Toujours
by Taquinez
Summary: A tale of mystery & intrigue, pain & pleasure, love & hate, trust & betrayal, envy & satiety. A dark AU exploring the rooted depths of Rogue, Remy, Magneto, Logan, Scott, Xavier, Kitty, Cypher & more. Ch 10 - New Toys, Discarded Toys... It's all gone awry
1. Chapter 1 It's a Fire

**Disclaimer:** I tried to steal them once, but Remy was a better thief than I, so all the X-Men characters still belong to Marvel. Évariste Gavet is my creation and belongs to me.

**A/U Setting:** The Phalanx invaded the Earth at a much earlier time than as it occurred in the comics. The result of this difference was a three-sided war between Earth, the Phalanx, and the Technarch that lasted over seven years. Earth won, eventually, but not without major repercussions.

Five years have passed since the last of the defeated Technarch and Phalanx retreated from Earth. Much of the destruction has been built anew. Cities—half destroyed, half reformed—are regaining the familiar formalities of day-to-day life. Life is continuing on. And while relations between humans and mutants have improved significantly due to the mutants' role in winning the war, it doesn't take much to drive fear and animosity to a fever pitch. A series of murders, old grudges, innocent coincidences, and hidden agendas will boil frayed nerves quite effectively...

**Author's Notes:** As this is a mystery, there are parts that are misleading on purpose. Not everything is as it seems and not everyone is who he or she seems. In unraveling the mystery, these things will be revealed and explained.

And finally, each chapter will begin with lyrics of a song, mostly by Portishead. Please take the time to read them because they really do have significant atmospheric, thematic, and conceptual purposes to the story. All the better, though, if you could actually find a way to listen to them while reading. -wink-

* * *

**Chapter One**

_It's a fire,  
These dreams they pass me by,  
The salvation I desire,  
Keeps getting me down._

_'Cause we need to,  
Recognize mistakes,  
For time and again._

_So let it be known,  
For what we believe in,  
I can see no reason,  
For it to fail._

_'Cause this life is like a farce,  
I can't breathe through this mask,  
Like a fool,  
So breathe on, sister, breathe on._

_From this oneself,  
Testify or tell,  
It's fooling us now._

_("It's a Fire," Portishead)_

**-**

"They don't think it's him," Detective Bishop said, handing Logan the ID the police found on the victim. The ID was in a clear plastic bag. It was muddy, but there wasn't any blood on it.

"That's why I'm here. Right, Bub?"

As they walked, Wolverine learned the victim's stats from the ID. He ignored the name and picture. If Bishop called him for help then that meant the name and picture were no help to them so far. Once he had the stats dully noted, Wolverine handed Bishop back the ID as Bishop continued to lead him towards Recovery Fountain.

The fountain, located in Recovery Square in Central Park, was one of the first memorials built after the Phalanx war. It was solid marble, veined green and black. The centerpiece was a life size statue of two females in the fighting-for-life pose made famous by journalistic photographer, Peter Parker. One of the females in the statue was a teenager dressed in sneakers, tattered jeans, gloves and a turtleneck. Her two-toned hair, cleverly marked by the marble veins, was in pigtail braids. One braid was half undone and disheveled, missing its ribbon from the end. The other female in the statue was a young woman, a heroine, in a formfitting body suit with a bird—its wingspan fully opened—etched into the chest. The heroine's wavy mane was reminiscent of fire, sprawling out around her. The teen, atop the centered crag, was squatting and digging her heals into the precipice for leverage as she dragged the unconscious heroine from out of the pool in the base of the fountain. One of the heroine's hands clutched the missing ribbon from the teen's loosened pigtail braid. When the fountain was operating, more than twenty shoots of water would pass over and swirl around the statue to drip and tinkle down into the pool. The memorial was completed with a plaque secured on its pedestal:

_"Heroes, aren't we all."  
Henry McCoy.  
Dedicated in memory of Phoenix and Rogue  
for their heroic efforts against the Phalanx invasion._

Logan, along with Bishop and several of the X-Men, had aptly attended the unveiling ceremony. McCoy had given a speech. The President of the United States had presented appreciation plaques engraved with the dedication to Scott Summers, in honor of his deceased wife, and to Charles Xavier, in Rogue's honor since no living relatives of hers were ever uncovered. Logan had stayed to see Scott accept Phoenix's plaque, but abruptly left when Charles stepped up to receive Rogue's. The site of that had sickened him. They had rejected Rogue and all but chased her out of the mansion when she had gone nuts, attacking everyone, after she awoke in the medlab. They claimed they had suspected she was responsible for Phoenix's death in the very battle, the very scene, which the statue was based on. Then, later, after Rogue had died while helping to save the Morlocks, they had suddenly mourned her, proclaiming that she had made up for her former diablerie. Logan had grumbled that they were a bunch of hypocrites too caught up in their own problems to see the girl had been scared and made a mistake with Jean. In his opinion, Rogue had never needed redemption. She had needed their help.

Logan shook his head free of the memory and focused on the task before him.

To reach the nucleus of the crime scene, Logan and Bishop had to weave through a crowd. There were too many people trampling all over the area surrounding the body. New York's boys in blue were gathering up bits of debris, mud and water samples, and anything else that could possibly be a piece of evidence. All those people and their activity were an assault on Logan's hypersensitive senses—the very reason for calling him to the scene—until the smell hit him. Once that happened, he had no problems filtering out all the blues.

Wolverine wrinkled his nose in disgust. The body smelled over a week dead. Its appearance supported that theory as well. According to the ID, the victim was male, nineteen, blond hair, blue eyes, six foot one inches in height, and one hundred eighty-five pounds. Some of that description fit the man lying dead in front of him. He was blond and his one eye was blue and he looked about six-three, but his body had been so far converted over to organic circuitry he had to weigh over two-fifty, easy. He appeared to have been in the advanced stages of the Phalanx Assimilation Virus, most commonly referred to as Lanx. His entire left side and most of his face had been transformed into circuitry, making it hard to identify him. On top of that, he was emaciated. The remaining flesh was gaunt and shriveled, sucking on the muscles and bones underneath it. The organic circuitry was crystalline, parched and flaking, ready to crumble to dust.

Logan asked, "All the others were like this?"

Bishop nodded. "This is number nine."

Leaning down for a closer look, Logan noted there wasn't any blood. Despite the dryness of the corpse, there appeared to not be any leakage of any kind of body fluid at all. Suspicious, Logan tested the dampness of the pool bottom with his fingers. The remaining water was nothing more than a glaze, so he asked, "How long ago did ya drain the fountain?"

"Forty minutes ago, give or take," answered Bishop.

"And the body was in the pool like this? In the water?"

Bishop nodded, his eyes flicking over to the face of Rogue's statue, then back to the body.

Logan caught Bishop's minute gesture and huffed. He didn't want to get on that subject just yet. Instead, he glanced over at a hysterical girl who was pleading with some of the officers at the do-not-cross tape. She was mostly hidden from his view but he got flashes of her blond hair as she hopped to see past the officers.

"That the girlfriend?"

"No," Bishop said, "His sister."

Logan noticed that Bishop was watching his reaction to that, but he didn't know why.

Finally, Bishop added, "She reported him missing two days ago. He went to work, never came home, and didn't show for work yesterday or today."

"And you think it's him," Logan asked. He gestured for the ID again.

"Yeah, I do," Bishop said with a sigh.

The sigh made Logan raise his brows in question. He looked at the ID again, reading off the more personal information. More to himself than to Bishop, he asked, "Lanx negative?"

"That's what it says," Bishop answered.

Logan checked the date on the ID. It wasn't even a week old. "Mutant. Thermal, kinetic shield," he read from the ID. "These are his," he said as he touched some of the scorch marks on the ground and the marble. Back to the ID, he read, "Alpha: base three," then translated, "He's a flier with limited invulnerability?" He finally matched the name and picture with the powers, the connection forming in his mind. "Cannonball?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, Sam Guthrie... According to the ID," Bishop reminded him. "The others think the ID's stolen."

Logan was skeptical either way. The body sure didn't look like Cannonball; didn't look like much of anyone really. It looked more like a mummy half-dressed in cybernetics instead of cloth strips. "The sister got something personal of his, a jacket or something," he asked, "So I can match his scent."

Bishop motioned over one of the blues, who brought over a pair of leather strapped flying goggles and then left. Although neither Logan nor Bishop had spent much time with Cannonball since the war ended, the goggles were very familiar to them.

Logan, grimacing, sniffed the leather, then knelt down and sniffed the body. A moment later, his shoulders sagged.

"They can tell her it's him," Logan said, sounding faintly defeated. He hadn't expected it to be him, hadn't wanted it to be him.

"No," Bishop said.

Logan looked up, miffed.

"It's Paige," Bishop explained, "Husk. She should hear this from us."

Logan nodded and Bishop gave the blues the signal to let Paige through.

"You sure we should let her see him like this," Logan asked, "He looks a lot more than two days gone." A thought occurred to him and he added, "If they're not looking for the right thing, autopsy might just agree."

"This is a very public place," Bishop said, following Logan's train of thought. "Families come through here all day long."

Logan gestured to the smashed up marble and the scorch marks. "This happened here," he said, "Tonight."

"I figured as much," Bishop agreed. "But..."

This time, both of them flicked their eyes to the teenage face of Rogue's statue.

"You think the killer's trying to tell us something?" Bishop asked.

"Who knows," Logan said, shrugging. He looked up to see the blues let Paige past the do-not-cross tape and head towards them. She swayed as though she were dazed or drugged. He gauged his timing with Paige's speed, and figured he was still safe to talk.

"Any suspects," Logan asked.

"Nobody living," Bishop complained.

Logan huffed, his eyes flicking to Rogue's statue again.

Half-annoyed, half-satiric, Bishop added, "We're considering getting the Underground's help."

"No, that's a good idea," Logan said. Seeing that Paige was almost to them, just a few more blues to pass, he stood and added, "We'll do it. Ain't no way Cyke and Cable aren't gonna want to get in on this."

Bishop looked like he was going to try to talk Logan out of the X-Men's involvement, when Paige finally stumbled up. Seeing her brother, she cried out, "Sam! No, no, no, no..."

Logan grabbed her and held her as sobs wracked her.

* * *

The door to the lounge opened. Out stepped Magneto and his most frequent private visitor, her features concealed by her ever-present hooded cloak, to enter into the common area. Magneto knew that the residents of his province, in whispers, speculated she was the fabled Fausse, co-leader of the Underground, but he had neatly ignored them. He gave the rumors no credence by either affirming or denying them. Still, the residents never dared speak their suspicions of the visitor's identity within earshot of Magneto nor her. So, when the two of them emerged from the lounge, the nearby group of children and teachers merely glanced, nodded, or smiled to acknowledge them before returning to their previous activity. The teachers were telling the children the fairy tale of 'The Unrecht,' a superstition that had grown popular during the end of the Phalanx Invasion. Magneto and his visitor paused in their farewells, momentarily caught up in the retelling of the familiar story.

"Well, now that the boy's skin and bones had become metal circuitry, just like her, the Unrecht found him beautiful and special and kindred." Despite the metallic flavor of the teacher's voice, it was still markedly feminine. The quality of her voice wasn't a part of her mutation. It was a result of surviving Lanx, the Phalanx assimilation virus.

"She was happy she had made a companion," continued the teacher, "a son of her very own, for she had been so lonely before making him like her."

"The more she watched him the more she loved him," a second teacher said. "And the more she loved him the more she felt sorry for him... for forcing him into a life like her own."

The first teacher took up the telling again, saying, "She decided to rescue him from the harm she caused him. She laid her hands upon him and tried to remove the virus she'd given him, she tried to draw it back into herself."

A dramatic pause for emphasis, and then the second teacher said, "But, it was too late. The virus had spread too far."

"So, she did the only thing she could do to end his torment," the first teacher said, her metallic voice taking on a dismal tone. "She called upon her mutant powers and drained him of his life, ending his pain."

"That's so sad," one child, hearing the story for the first time, said. The other children looked at her like she was an idiot.

"That's stupid," said a second kid.

"Yeah," said a third.

"Why?" Asked the first child, defensively. "She learned her lesson in the end, didn't she?"

Both teachers calmed and soothed the group.

"But, she didn't, little one," the first teacher said. "She was so lonely she tried over and over again to make herself a companion. And every time it ended the same. That was the pain she caused and that was her suffering. Forever searching for a companion. Forever killing the ones she chose to love."

Hearing that, Magneto looked to his visitor. As he feared, she had turned away to take her leave.

"It's just a superstitious story," Magnus abated, trying to keep her there.

The visitor stopped, but didn't face him.

He moved closer, coming up behind her. It was better if he stayed behind her. She was such an expert at concealing her face in the shadows of the hood he knew he wouldn't gain anything by facing her anyway. He also knew that if he faced her directly, she'd take it as a challenge, as a threat.

"Well, it's stupid," she said, her southern twang revealed with her annoyance. "I wish people would stop telling it."

A moment of consideration led him to say, "No, I suppose you wouldn't like the fame."

"It's not the fame," she said curtly.

Magneto was always regal, always in control, always the powerful, calculating leader. In her presence, though, he was a little softer. He found he had to be careful when he was around her. He had to work at keeping reign over his reaction to her presence. If his opposition ever noticed the difference in him it would surely become a canyon of vulnerability to his leadership. Evidence that he was, after all, just a man. A man who, in the three years span of peace, had begun to envy the very families he governed in his successful mutant refugee camp, or rather, city, now. The leader in him wagered that the compelling sensation, though premature, was only natural in the sustaining absence of war.

Thoughtful, affectionate, he said, "Perhaps not."

Lord Magneto, the leader, knew all too well her reasons for disliking the story. Erik Lensherr, the man, however, more than sympathized for her evident pain, and wanted to ease it. Like it did more and more frequently than the leader liked, the man won out.

Erik rested a hand on her shoulder, momentarily savoring the feeling of the soft and supple texture of her hooded cloak. When she didn't shake him off, he took further advantage of his precarious status with her and gently squeezed her shoulder. He did it to comfort himself as much as to comfort her.

Insinuating the leader, the man said, "My offer still stands."

"So does the answer," she replied.

"I expected as much," he said, removing his hand from her shoulder. He saw that she visibly relaxed in response. He let his bitterness at that show when he said, "Give Narcisse my best."

A deep breath, exposed to him by the shift of her ever-concealing cloak, preceded her practiced response. "The situation is fixed, _Lord_ Magneto."

He recognized the emphasis she'd put on his title, his mark of leadership. He knew it was her way to distance the ruler from the man, her from him. She did it whenever their conversations broached that particular topic, whenever it boarded on the personal. It all came back down to the set of terms she had dictated for their continued association. Despite the years of their acquaintance, she still insisted that he maintained his propriety, his commanding bearing, throughout the course of their meetings. Sometimes he thought she did it for his protection, to keep her from becoming a vulnerability to him. Other times he believed she did it to protect herself and the group she represented when she associated with him. He even, once or twice, decided that she was just that professional and formal. This time, though, he was undecided. It seemed a mixture of them all, equally.

There was nothing else to say, so he nodded, and she left.

* * *

Gambit moved through the dark tunnels. He was on his way to meet the X-Men's contact to the Underground. It was his first time. In his five years with the team—having joined on at the tail end of the seven-year war—he'd never been sent to meet with one of their messengers before. He had been well aware that the X-Men made use of the Underground. Most everyone in the defense racket during the war had requested the Underground's assistance, which wasn't an easy thing to do. Narcisse and Fausse were called the fabled leaders because nobody outside the organization had ever gained their direct counsel. So, the only way to gain the Underground's assistance was to send a request via one of their messengers. And, the only way to obtain a dictated meeting time and place with a messenger was to convince one of the only seven people who regularly met with the messengers to set it up on their behalf. Those seven people were Lila Cheney, Magneto, Deathbird, Victor Von Doom, Mystique, Silver Samurai, and Carol Danvers. Gambit had found it intriguing that Xavier, as powerful a figure as he and the X-Men were, especially during the war, was not counted among them.

The X-Men were on fairly good terms with three of the seven: Lila, Magneto, and Danvers. This time, they had gone through Magneto, who reported the parameters back to Xavier, who had Storm fill Gambit in on the assignment. Apparently, he'd been requested by name.

At first, Gambit's cocky ego had reared when Storm had told him the messenger specifically asked to meet with him. But, Storm dashed it when she told him why.

"Other than Jubilee, Illyana, Jono, Roberto, and Kitty, you are the only one of the current roster who has not met with a messenger," Storm had told him. "She demands to meet with someone new, but will not meet with a child. You are then her only option."

"She?" Gambit asked, his cocky grin reappearing.

Storm frowned, serious, and said, "Do not flirt with her, Gambit. Do not talk at all if you can help it. Our plea rests on this initial contact."

"Dey turn us down just because of dat?" Gambit asked, disbelieving. Women were his specialty. He could always charm them.

"Yes, Gambit. The messenger works within inflexible rules placed upon her by the Underground. She can add any further guidelines as she sees fit. They are severe and they are not negotiable."

Storm continued on, briefing him on the meeting protocols. He was to go alone. He was not permitted any possible kind of weapon, not even his cards or lock picks because they knew of his mutant powers. He could not wear a watch, his communicator, his gloves, battle armor, any clothing with pockets, or even his trench coat. The only thing he was allowed on his person, other than just enough clothing to keep him from being naked, was their formal request, which was to be handwritten on plain paper. He would have to pass through hidden sensors that would scan and verify his identity, the items he carried on his person, and his powers. Thanks to the Underground's association with Deathbird, they even had use of Shiar technology to make sure he was not secretly gifted with either telepathy or hyper senses. Because Xavier, Psylocke, Cable, and Wolverine possessed those powers, they could never made contact with a messenger.

Storm explained to him that when he reached the meeting place, the messenger would give him the rest of his instructions for handing over the note as well as the procedures for his exiting the meeting. These details were not given out ahead of time for several rather paranoid reasons, but mostly it was to give the messenger of the Underground the power and authority.

By the time Storm completed the briefing, it was time for Gambit to head out, just as the Underground messenger had planned. Nightcrawler had teleported Gambit down into the tunnels and from there he made his way to the designated spot.

It wasn't an easy journey to make. Though it was early afternoon, no daylight reached down that far into the tunnels, rendering them pitch black. There were work lights on the earthen walls, but all the bulbs had been broken. Gambit had nothing to see by and he only had the sound of his own movements to keep him company. He didn't even hear water trickling or rodents squeaking. He may have considered whistling or humming, but Storm had warned him that any vocalizations would alert the messenger's suspicions and she would leave. Storm had also warned him that any use of his powers would be taken as a threat and would thereby end the meeting, so, though he was very tempted, he didn't charge any pebbles, broken light bulbs, or handfuls of loose dirt to help him see. He had to feel along the walls to make his way through. At junctions he had to walk blindly, only able to hope he didn't end up on some stray connecting hallway when he was supposed to be going straight. Because of the lack of visual or audio stimulation, within only fifteen minutes of traveling the tunnels, Gambit's sense of sight and sound were acute enough to make him think he was being as paranoid as the messenger's rules had made her seem to be. Every breath sounded like he was gasping for air. Every step scratched like nails on a chalkboard. Every touch to the wall was like a ringing slap across a face. His heartbeat thumped in his chest, a rhythmic base in a blackened dance club. It was nerve-wracking, even to an expert thief like him.

The memories Gambit had connected with the tunnels didn't help matters either. He expected the messenger knew what had happened in these tunnels just over five years ago. It wouldn't have surprised him to discover she had chosen this particular location for the added emotional stress it would have on him. However, the abrupt sound of the messenger's voice did surprise him.

"That's far enough," she said. She had a strong and confident voice. It had a hint of a southern accent to it.

Gambit tried to find her by the direction of her voice, but its suddenness and brevity startled his piqued hearing enough to make it impossible. By the time his senses got over the shock of sound from a source other than him, she'd stopped talking. He couldn't even hear her breath; he was sure she was holding it. It set his already irritable nerves so far on edge his palms itched to reach out for her. He managed to control that particular urge, but, even though he knew it was futile, he constantly searched her out with his red on black eyes. It did no good, like he'd known. The darkness was complete, and she, its interruption.

"Leave what you have on the ground at your feet and back up ten paces," the voice instructed, startling him again.

Gambit didn't like the idea of just leaving it there without even getting a look at who was to pick it up. But, he did as he was told. Still, he picked up a handful of dirt in the process, just in case. It wouldn't make for a powerful defense if he needed one, but he'd at least be able to surprise her with a flash of light that could buy him time to flee or to work out something bigger.

He heard the quietest steps and a rustle of paper he assumed was the messenger retrieving the note off the ground.

Then he heard nothing.

He didn't know how long he waited, but wondering if he'd been tricked, if she'd just left, he asked, "Now what?"

It was a simple enough and non-offensive question. Or so he thought. The surprising blow to his jaw told him otherwise.

"Merde!" _Shit!_

It had been quite a blow. It had knocked him into the wall, hard.

"What de hell was dat for?"

No answer. No movement.

He felt along the dirt floor and gathered a few pebbles in one hand, still holding the handful of dirt he got when he laid down the note in his other hand. Intending to save the pebbles as ammunition, he was about to charge and throw the handful of dirt as a distraction, when the messenger spoke again. It didn't come from where he expected her to be.

"Don't," she said. A shuffle of feet, and then she spoke from further down the tunnel, saying, "If you want our help, you will stay perfectly still."

Another shuffle of feet signaled she'd moved, but Gambit couldn't pinpoint where. He decided to try to feel her with his empathy. He'd never used it like that before, and he wasn't sure if she would take it as using a form of telepathy. But, he figured since he had been asked for by name, they had to know it was part of his charm powers and thus it was their own fault if he used it.

It worked.

_Anger_, _bitterness_, _distrust_, and a _yearning for acceptance_ was emanating just to his right. It was getting stronger so either her emotions were strengthening or she was moving towards him. He didn't know which, but guessed it was the latter.

Crack!

He'd been right. He clutched his side, sure a rib was broken.

"This meeting is over," she said, "Your request is denied."

"I t'ought dat Fausse and Narcisse decided," Gambit retorted angrily. He'd worked closely with Sam and Paige during the war. He'd supported their wishes to leave the team and live normal lives after the Phalanx had retreated. He wanted Sam's murderer found. He wouldn't accept that this ridiculous meeting run by this paranoid, trigger-happy woman was the only hope for getting the Underground's help.

The crumpled up note bopped him in his forehead. It had surprised him, but that he'd caught it after it had hit him astonished him.

"I decide!" The bitterness and contempt in her voice synched with what his empathy sensed. "Tell Xavier he's on his own."

Under his breath, he swore, "Bec mon chu! Dis a été maudite dès de debut!" _Kiss my ass! This was cursed from the start!_

He charged the balled up paper and threw it where he estimated her to be. It hit the wall and exploded. It was small and it had missed her completely, but from the light it created he now had a clearer idea of where she was at that moment: Right in front of him.

A kick to his shin, a punch to his already injured rib. He blocked the one at his face. His strained senses were adjusting. He could feel the wind off her jabs and kicks; hear them cut through the air.

She swung again and he caught her wrist. Her following kick caught his hip. A punch from her free hand got his jaw again. He grunted through the pain, and snagged her other wrist after it had connected. He now had a hold of both her wrists.

"Gambit don't want to fight you." And he didn't. He needed to convince her to bring the X-Men's request to Narcisse and Fausse. "Don't know what you have against Xavier," he continued, "But don't let more people die because you got a grudge."

She spat in his face.

He yanked her arm to him and wiped his face on her cloak. He was a bit surprised to find its texture was soft and supple like suede. As he pulled back, her knee caught him in the groin. He couldn't just grunt through that pain.

He released her, doubled over, and clutched himself in a vain attempt to ease the spikes of pain that shot through his groin and the gut-wrenching ache that hollowed out his lower abdomen. Though, his instinctual reaction to the blow was immediate and quick, he was sure she was already gone.

He was wrong.

Just as the pain was subsiding, he heard her say, "Kiss _mah_ ass, Cajun."

Her words and the humor that his empathy felt from her amazed him.

"Yeah, I know what you said. I did study up on you for this."

"Mais, Remy didn't t'ink you learned his native slang," he said, his cocky grin sliding right into place on reflex. He was reverting to his usual tactics of charm since he'd had her attention and she wasn't pounding him anymore. He didn't use his charm power though, just his words, tone of voice, gestures, and expressions.

"And wipe that grin offa your face," she said, "It won't work on me. I know all about ya."

"How is it you can see me," Gambit asked as it dawned on him. "Dis whole fight you knew exactly where I was. Is night vision one of your powers?"

His empathy picked up on her immediate jolt at his question. He worked his empathy, trying to figure her out, gain something he could use to his advantage. He found her agitation was attached to a deep-rooted loneliness and distrust. He felt those emotions intermingle with her yearning for acceptance and understanding, giving it precedence. Then he felt her fear, stronger and more deeply ingrained than the loneliness, surge up to ignite suspicion full throttle. He felt her holster her wits against his charm.

"We're not here to discuss me, Gambit," she said, using his title.

Gambit understood the intent of her words, sterile professionalism. His empathy doubled it though. Her need to distance herself from him was staggering, yet still, just underneath the surface of that, he could still feel the hurt and betrayal and bitterness that fostered it. It made him realize the strength of her resolve. It earned her a little of his respect.

He took her hint and returned to the business of their meeting. "De X-Men's request?"

"Yes," she answered. "But I'm not promising anything," she added quickly. "I'm just saying I'll bring it to them."

"So, what now?" He cringed as soon as he said it. It was the same thing that set her on him to begin with.

"Wait ten minutes before leaving," she ordered. "Do not leave early. Our sensors will see it and your request will be ignored. And next time we may not answer your call for a messenger. We'll contact you when a decision has been made."

"Any idea when dat could be?"

"You want me to ask the leaders of the Underground to hurry it up?"

Gambit didn't need his empathy to find the incredulity in that.

He started to say, "Mais, dis t'ief was—"

A grunt of exasperation cut him off, and he chuckled. She sighed, and his empathy felt her giving into him, before she said, "I'll see what I can do."

She left, calling behind her, "Don't forget, ten minutes."

He waited what he hoped was fifteen.

* * *

His long slender fingers swept camber and plumb, pen to paper, as he signed, Évariste Gavet, Patriarche du Elysium, Le Souterrain, The Underground. He looked over the contract one more final time before pushing them over to his assistant.

Locke picked them up, shape shifted a portion of his techno-organic body to encase them, then asked his leader, "Tell her something, say you?"

The Underground's interstellar and cybernetic translator, Cypher, who stood beside Locke, tittered at the funny shape his best friend's face took when he asked that.

Évariste smiled good-naturedly and said, "I have not been impressed with Deathbird myself as of recently. Tell her that if she does not fulfill the Shiar technology quota for both last contract and this one by the end of the month, then both contracts will become void and she will lose her visit privileges."

Cypher and Locke's answering expressions—they were aghast—made Évariste laugh. During all the time of their friendship, he still shocked them.

"Ne la craignez pas ainsi," d_o not fear her so_, he told them with a gallant wave to dismiss them of their concerns and wipe away those looks they had. "Elle est une pouffiasse." _She is a bitch/whore_.

Cypher's responding blush elicited another bout of laughter from Évariste. Cypher was rather bashful and conservative, and since his mutant power was the innate ability to immediately translate the language of any culture—human, alien, or cybernetic—Évariste found it amusing to say bawdy phrases in French around him.

Évariste was born and raised in Avignon, France, yet still, he spoke English as fluently as he spoke his native French. His English lacked enough of an accent that, if he so chose, he could easily prevent anyone from suspecting his true origins. At most, his English exhibited an enchanting lilt that soothed and lured the attentions of whomever he spoke to. His command of these languages was in no way part of his mutant powers, but was the result of the frequent and lengthy trips to the states that his parents' business had brought the family on. During the last such trip, his parents and two sisters contracted Lanx when a Technarch-Phalanx battle broke out too near them. They died, leaving him here alone. The tragedy led him to meet up with Locke and Cypher, and to later help found the Underground.

Évariste's laughter ceased and he stood. He was already gliding to the side door of his office, somber and urgent, when he told them, "Go out the front."

Cypher and Locke instantly complied.

Évariste was confident that neither of them would take offense at his terse instructions; repetition had desensitized any animosity or offense taking, since Évariste would, as usual, apologize once the familiar crisis that was its cause had been resolved.

One door closed, confirming Cypher and Locke's exit, only moments before the side door opened to announce the arrival of a desperate, disheveled, and quavering young woman who looked as though she had just been in a fight. She barely remembered to push the door closed as she rushed into Évariste's expectant embrace.

"Facile, prenez-le facile," _easy, take it easy_, he cooed, stroking her back and hair. "Il est bien maintenant. Vous êtes sûr." _It's all right now. You are safe._

She tried to pull back from him, so he released her. He looked her over carefully, examining her emotional and physical well-being. His initial assessment assured him that her ragged breathing was calming, so he began to restore her appearance.

He sidled the fallen strap of her tank top back onto her shoulder, and said, "Aucune crainte, d'accord." _No fear, okay._ He wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek with his thumb, and promised, "Je le rendrai meilleur. Je fixerai." I will make it better. I will fix.

He watched her eyes light up with relief, and felt his own reflect the same. He gave her a small tug and she dove back into his embrace, burying her face into his neck. He all but crushed her to him, and he shuddered along with her. When he felt her tension dissipate, his own tension dispelled as well.

"Nous nous rendrons meilleur. Nous le fixerons." _We will make each other better. We will fix it._

They vanished in the cradle of each other's clasp, for she was his fix and he was hers.

* * *

At 5:19 AM the next morning, Logan heard the phone ring. He grumbled, pushed his elbows up under his chest to roll himself within reach of the phone, and answered it.

"Yeah?" Logan greeted brusquely.

Detective Bishop's stern throaty voice came over the line. "We got another one."

* * *

_See you next chapter!_


	2. Chapter 2 Only You

**Disclaimer:** Remy's still the know-it-all at thievery and I can't best him, so the X-Men still belong to Marvel. ooo

**Chapter Two**

_We suffer everyday,  
What is it for,  
These crimes of illusion  
Are fooling us all,  
And now I am weary,  
And I feel like I do._

_It's only you,  
Who can tell me apart,  
And it's only you,  
Who can turn my wooden heart._

_The size of our fight,  
It's just a dream,  
We've crushed everything,  
I can see, in this morning selfishly,  
How we've failed,  
And I feel like I do._

_It's only you,  
Who can tell me apart,  
And it's only you,  
Who can turn my wooden heart._

_Now that we've chosen to take all we can,  
This shade of autumn, a stale bitter end,  
Years of frustration lay down side by side._

_And It's only you,  
Who can tell me apart,  
And it's only you,  
Who can turn my wooden heart._

_It's only you,  
Who can tell me apart,  
And it's only you,  
Who can turn my wooden heart._

_("Only You," Portishead)_

**-**

When Logan arrived at Paige's apartment at 6:07 AM the police let him through without Detective Bishop's insistence. Most of the blues were the same ones that were at the previous day's crime scene where Sam Guthrie's body had been discovered. As far as the blues and the department itself were concerned, Logan was now an expert advisor on the serial murder case that the press had deemed the 'Unrecht Murders.'

Logan only needed a cursory look at Paige's body in order to know that she had died the same way as Sam had. This time, Logan wasn't there just to identify the emaciated corpse, but to help the overall investigation. At the moment, he and Bishop were standing over the shoulder of the department's resident computer wiz, Kitty Pryde, also a part time member of the X-Men, as she tried to retrieve some deleted files off Paige's computer.

Beep. Error. File not found.

"Dang it!" That was Kitty. "She was prepared for this," she said as she ejected the 'trash recovery CD' from Paige's computer.

"Who? The murderer?" Logan asked.

"No, Paige," Kitty said with a huff. "She's maybe even better at this than I am. This CD here is a modern marvel. You see, the program on it retrieves files that have been permanently deleted. When you permanently delete a file, it isn't really gone. The computer has merely rewritten the pathway to the file and has stored it randomly into what the computer considers available space. As long as the information hasn't been replaced by newly saved material, the file can still be accessed once the pathway is restored. This program searches out deleted files and shuffles through possible pathways until it finds the most likely one. Problem is, it keeps telling me that there isn't even one deleted file. That there's never been one. Which isn't even possible. Even temporary files leave a trace on the system... like email and what have you, because of cookies automatically downloaded."

"But you saw the screen when you got here. It was a file report that said a file was downloaded and deleted," Bishop reasoned.

"I know that," Kitty said. "I'm just saying that she's got some powerful program on here that counters this baby. If I can get a hold of the program, which doesn't register in her database, then I could do more. But, as of right now... nada."

"So this is a dead end?" That was Logan.

"I didn't say that," she said, "I have other options still. Did you happen to find the original disk. It's possible the program didn't extend to it, or even that the disk was still intact to begin with."

Bishop cringed and said to himself, "How could I forget?"

"What?" Kitty asked, having overheard him. "You did search through the loose disks, didn't you?"

"We both did, but nothing looked suspicious," Logan answered for the both of them. "We were going to pass them over to you to look at on your own system. We didn't want to check anything here because we didn't want to mess what evidence was already on the screen when we got here. We figured you'd know more than we would."

"There's more," Bishop said. "Paige told me that she'd received some disks in the mail from Sam the day he went missing. She was sure they had something to do with his murder. I came by here to pick them up. I didn't think they had anything to do with this case, because there were no connections between any of the victims. They all seemed random kills. But, I said I'd give them to you to look at anyway. I'd forgotten all about them after I found her."

Logan looked into the garbage beside the desk and pulled out an oversized envelope. After skimming the return address and the postmark, he said, "Here's the envelope." He handed it over to Bishop and asked, "Think they're still here?"

Bishop motioned to the blues to bring over the box of disks that had been gathered as evidence, then he said, "I doubt it, but we'll check. If her files were erased off the computer, then I'm starting to believe that Paige was onto something with her theory that whatever Sam's pet project was, it's what got him killed."

"You don't think his and Paige's deaths could be unrelated to the others... maybe just a copy cat, to cover the murderer's tracks, do you?" Logan asked.

"They were the only two with any connection to each other," Bishop answered, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Hey, now," Kitty jumped in, "Don't go jumping to conclusions here. It's unlikely that the way they died was simply duplicated. It's a very unique way to die. So unique, that right now your only suspect is a dead heroine. My theory would be that Paige herself had been deleting these files when the killer—uh—killed her."

The blue handed her the box of files, then left. As she already had rubber gloves on, as most of them did, she immediately started pulling out disks and examining their labels.

"Don't discount that Sam and Paige were not specifically targeted by the same killer—" She paused as she looked over two disks in the box. She tossed them back in, continuing her rifling through the box as she continued talking, "—just because the others weren't connected to each other. Maybe Sam stumbled onto something and didn't know it. Paige was a smart cookie. There could be a number of reasons he sent them to her. Having gone missing, these disks stand out as a major clue."

"We don't know if they are missing yet," Bishop corrected her.

"Yes we do," Kitty said as she stuck her hand out, holding up three black CD cases to them, while still looking through the box.

Logan took the cases and smelled them. "I think she's right. Sam and Paige's scents are on these. Sam's is real faint, but it's there." He handed the cases to Bishop, who inspected them for himself, and then Logan asked Kitty, "How'd you know?"

"They are the only empty cases. There are no loose disks. And, they are the only cases with the labels ripped off of them. It was only a guess really, but—Ah ha!"

"What'd you find?" That was Bishop.

"One of the disks?" Logan.

"No," Kitty said, a sheepish grin filling her face. "Just found out why I can't get past her security, and likely won't be able to."

"And the reason is?" Bishop asked.

Kitty frowned, then admitted, "She _is_ better than me. I knew her name was familiar—other than X-Men stuff and her brother, that is. She's a programmer for Tornado. It's a software company that makes virus protection and hacker prevention programs. She's the first designer listed on this baby, here." She held up the CD she had given the 'ah ha' over. "It's an as of yet unveiled, and presumed unfinished, overwrite program. First of its kind, actually. Read about the supposed plans for it in a CS journal last month. If the stats are true, which I don't doubt considering Tornado's history, this baby does the impossible."

"So you can get into it?" Logan asked.

"No," Kitty said.

Bishop's turn. "But you said if you had the program she used—"

"I know what I said. But that was before I found this. This isn't even supposed to be completed, yet. It's only supposed to be in the blueprinting stage... at best. I'd need weeks, at least, to analyze a program of this magnitude. I'll do it, but it's not going to be helpful for solving this case as much as other leads will be. My way, unfortunately, won't be quick enough. Those missing disks will do you better. Either that, or..." She trailed off, knowing it was another sore spot for Logan, being the full time active member of the X-Men that he was.

"What?" Bishop asked.

Logan just narrowed his eyes at her. He could smell how she suddenly began to sweat. Whatever she was going to say, it was something she was nervous about telling him. Her eyes had flicked to his, then away, when she trailed off.

"Spit it out, darlin'. I'm not fragile."

Kitty nodded then said, "Cypher. He could read this program in a few hours or less. Easy."

Cypher was a sore spot for the X-Men. Cypher had left the X-Men, disputing certain issues with Xavier, and joined the Underground. He took Locke with him too, never to contact them again. Not one word. Some wondered if they were still alive. Logan figured they were just deep inside. They had joined while the Underground was still very young, when opportunities were high for them. At that time, it had just been a group of wayward mutants calling themselves the Morlocks. Some young foreigner had started convincing them to unite. A group of them agreed and rounded up more and more recruits. When Cypher met that young foreigner, named Évariste, he started hanging out more and more with the Morlocks and the burgeoning Underground. Soon after came Cypher's debates with Xavier and Scott and many of the other senior members of the team. Locke, Cypher's best friend, had sided with him against the others.

When Cypher and Locke had first left, Logan had followed them. He'd gotten to meet Évariste, a clever young man barely older than Cypher and Locke, and though the guy frustrated and riled him, Logan trusted he'd keep good track of the kids. Something about Évariste came off as trustworthy to Logan, so he let them go their own ways. Cypher and Locke promised to keep in touch and swore they still cared for the team, but also said they no longer felt that they belonged there anymore.

The thing that ultimately kept Logan from dragging them back to the mansion was the way Cypher had explained that he was more useful to the Underground than he was to the X-Men. With his mutation, he could help the Underground's members communicate. Their members were growing exponentially. Entire families were joining. A good number of them came from all over the world. As of the time that Cypher left, he was the only one who could translate and link them all together, preventing the varying languages from being such an enormous obstacle. Because of this, they needed Cypher for their very survival. Without him, they couldn't organize, feed, clothe, educate, and build resources and prosperity efficiently. Cypher spoke with all of them, relaying their needs, skills, and ideas to the leaders. Such a position, so early on in the organization's development, likely gave Cypher a position close to the leaders and a sense of purpose that the X-Men could never offer him. Power and usefulness were heady things, dangerous and addictive at times. But, Logan was confident that Cypher would handle it responsibly and maturely. Despite the loss of Cypher and Locke did to the X-Men, Logan hoped they were happy wherever they ended up.

As much as the kids often annoyed him, Logan had a soft spot for all of them. Kitty understood this, since she was one of his first protégés, and that was why she was tentative in bringing up Cypher. Since Cypher hadn't left for what the X-Men considered more reasonable and logical reasons, such as her downgrading to half-time in order to work with the reforming Police department under the new mutant-accepting legislature, she wasn't positive of Logan's feelings about Cypher's departure. After he'd returned to the mansion, he hadn't ever said anything more than, "They're gone. I couldn't stop them, and I don't think I really wanted to."

"Have you gotten word back from the Underground?" Bishop asked Logan.

"No, the Cajun—" he paused as he realized that the Cajun had reminded him of Évariste when they'd first met. He cleared his throat and continued again. "The Cajun met with a messenger yesterday afternoon. We don't expect word for at least a couple more days."

"Too bad you can't get word to Cypher directly," Kitty said. "I know he'd want to help. Sam was a friend of his, never got on him about hanging out with that group."

Logan worked the thought over in his head. Kitty had a very good point. Even if the Underground didn't offer up their resources, Cypher might be willing to help just with this part. If they could get another request to them, more specified to Cypher and how he could help solve Sam's murder, they'd have that much better of a chance all around.

"I'm gonna bring this up with Chuck and Cyke," Logan said, "See what else we could do. Call me if you get anything else."

Kitty nodded and asked, "Mind if I take this stuff with me for now? I want to see what I can come up with in the mean time. If you get another meeting with the Underground, or if you hear back about Cypher, I'll bring it with me."

Bishop answered, "Sounds fine with me. Logan?"

Logan simply nodded.

"'kay, see you later, Wolvie," Kitty said.

Logan huffed at the term of endearment as he left. Kitty and Bishop started breaking down and packing up the equipment.

* * *

Fausse stared at the single rose in its glass tube where it sat on the breakfast tray on the bedside table. Everyday it was the same, no matter how she sobered in the morning and wished the circumstances were somewhat different. Any moment Narcisse would return from his morning meeting, snatch the rose from the tube, draw it along her cheek or arm, and attempt to persuade her to miss her own morning meetings and stay in bed. Things were fixed, and so she was his and he was hers. But in the mornings, the memory of the night before guiltily reminded her that she had allowed the withdrawal to control her. As hard as she fought it during the day, she still returned to him, begging for more, every night. The tears of the night before weren't usual, those were special circumstances, but the rest, the rest was like clockwork. And though the last six and a half years had numbed her to so much else, the need for him every night and every morning, and the following repulsion she felt over her lack of self-restraint had remained just as overwhelming.

She rolled over, clutching the blanket to keep off the oncoming chills, covering the needy flesh that betrayed her every night, numbing the mind that could separate her from everything else other than the undeniable yearning for what he gave her.

She had not needed to hear the door open and close, to know he had arrived. She had felt him through their fix already. Still, she focused on the signs that other couples, not in their unique position, would use as signals to their lover's approach. She savored those signs in attempt to drown out the fix. She heard the brush of the rose stem against the glass as he took it in hand. She felt the shift of the bed as he crawled onto it and over to her side. By the time he brushed the petals along her cheek, the only part of her exposed from the sheet and her hair, the second wave of her morning guilt washed upon her.

She had no reason to blame him for their situation. All in all, it had all been an accident. An unfortunate bonding, ill-timed or well-timed, depending on which perspective she rationalized and the time of day she rationalized it, had brought about their dependence on each other. It was his powers, his emotions, and his needs mingled with her own powers, emotions and needs in the most coincidental of moments that caused it. And, she knew well enough, having been privy to his most intimate thoughts and feelings first hand more times than she could count, that he truly cared for her, and that it pained him to know she suffered in their irreversible predicament. He had at least come to peace with it, even thrived for it. He had honestly grown to love her over the years.

The fix confirmed this. So did her powers. And his words and actions never failed to remind her, either.

"Mon amour," _my love_, he whispered in her ear. "Je vous connais suis éveillé. " _I know you are awake._

He always spoke his native tongue when they were alone in intimate accommodations. She'd asked him once why he'd done so, even though she'd already learned of it through the fix as well through her own powers, but she wanted to hear it from him. If there was one thing she loved most about him, it was his openness and honesty with her. He'd been embarrassed when he'd answered her, telling her it was because no matter how much he changed, he would always remain the doubting, introspective youth from before his family's death. With her, he could be himself. He was able to shed the character he'd grown around himself for the sake of the Underground. He'd told her more than once that he was grateful for everyday that he had her to be real with. A part of her loved him for that.

He brushed his lips to her cheek, lifted her hair, and kissed her there as well. He sighed, saying, "Si vous plais, parlez avec moi." _Please, speak with me._

Si vous plais. _Please._ More literally, _if you please._ That was the real reason he took the name of Narcisse after the fix had formed. 'To please.' That was the most primal definition of his powers. It's what caused the fix. The generous boy had sought to help her in her time of need, and his eagerness to do so had been garnered by the hormones of being a teenager.

She rolled over and looked into his eyes, searching for her own self in their oceanic depths.

"It's almost time to go," she said. Though she was fluent in his language, it was on the rarest of times that she spoke to him in it.

"Il y a reste de temps, oui?" _There is a remainder of time, yes?_ He stroked the curves of her face. "Ne sommes-nous pas puissants? Pour une fois, participes du luxe dans elle." _Aren't we powerful? For once, luxuriate in it._

She smiled, almost mischievous. Through the fix he sensed her buckling, considering.

He stretched the length of his body against hers and returned the gesture of searching through her eyes. He brought his lips to hers, beckoning for her to return the kiss, and more, to let him inside.

_Was this really so terrible an arrangement_, she wondered. _He's loving. He's forgiving. He's sympathetic. It could be much worse. He could have been like Xavier or Scott. But he's not. A part of me loves him intensely._

She kissed him back, indulging in it. Another wash of guilt, the third of the morning, engulfed her for her thoughts.

_Just not the way he loves me... Not the way I could be with Erik._

He rolled onto his back and didn't bother to hide his embarrassment, his sorrow at detecting her thoughts. As he had heard and felt her, she had heard and felt him.

"Prends précaution, je vous en prie." _Take precaution, I beg of you._ It was so defeated.

She almost apologized, but knew it was futile. There was no excuse to give. There was no consolation to give. Her thoughts were what they were, and experience told her he would be offended by anything less than honesty. He wanted no pity love from her. But, that didn't mean he wanted unintended confessions, such at that one. It didn't mean the thoughts wouldn't hurt him, that he wouldn't lash out in anger.

He got up abruptly, saying, "Ou commande vos pensées ou écartez si vous ne pouvez pas!" _Either control your thoughts or draw aside if you cannot!_

She didn't like it, but she also didn't blame him for his anger. She knew how the fix worked. Six years had taught her of it well. Though the ramifications of the fix were not absolute, there were standards with it. Usually, only the strongest of emotions passed unabated from one to the other. Through it he and she were always connected, able to know when the other was near. When absent for a lengthy period of time, half a day or more, really, each would feel the compulsion to return to the other. The longer and further apart they were, the greater the urgency. The closer, the more soothed. Direct contact would activate an unstoppable transfer of all thoughts and feelings until the damage of remaining so far apart for so long had been healed. When in the safety zone of time and distance from each other, direct contact made it so it was difficult to tell if either was successfully sustaining the privacy of his or her private thoughts. Emotions, however, they could not block at all. So, she knew he'd feel her arousal and hunger, she didn't know for certain that he'd know who those feelings were for.

He struck the rose back into its vase. The end splintered from the force.

"Est-il lui que vous allez voir aujourd'hui?" _Is it him you will see today?_

"No. Mystique. His meeting was yesterday."

"Ahhh," he said, almost laughing at the realization to mock himself. "Puis, c'est pourquoi il est dans vos pensées privées." _Then, this is why he is in your private thoughts._

"It's not as sordid as that," she told him as her own anger rose. "Last night more than proved it."

He smiled then, remembering, amused with the torment of it, and said, "Pour autant que vous le détestez, je l'adore." _For as much as you loathe it, I adore it. _He sat on the bed to be closer to her and with a bashful grin asked, "Je vous ai satisfait? ...Ensuite cela." _I did please you? After that._ He took hold of her hand before she could yet answer and asked more pointedly, "Veuillez vraiment vous?" _Really please you?_

"Yes," she said. She meant it. With every fleshy fiber of her being. Perhaps even the non-fleshy bits as well.

His smile broadened, and she felt his blooming pride with their direct contact. He felt her happiness at pleasing him with her answer, and she felt his pride dwindle in response. Unfortunately, his specific thoughts were sealed from her this time. But, next time?

He took his hand away and asked, "S'il vous connaît jamais, Fausse—" _If he ever knows you…_

"He will not."

There had been many meanings to his words; few unrecognized by her. It was an old fear between them.

"Seulement parce que c'est impossible." _Only because it is impossible._

"No, Évariste," she said, latching onto his hand. "Even then. You. Mean. Too. Much. To. Me." She used her own power to ensure he heard that her thoughts matched her words and her feelings.

He nodded and squeezed her hand. After a moment, he got up. They had responsibilities to take care of.

Before opening the door, he looked back at her and said, "Parfois, je me souhaite n'ai pas eu... Que je vous avais permis à... Que choses étaient différentes... Ce blesserait moins, je pensent." _Sometimes, I wish I had not... That I had allowed you to... That things were different... It would hurt less, I think._

* * *

The lunch meeting was about to commence. Magneto and the others already present were waiting for only one final person to arrive. Magneto was looking out the window at a group of children playing in the courtyard on recess when a newspaper smacked down on the table directly in front of him. He looked up to see who had disturbed him in such a manner. It was Exodus, his head of public relations, so to speak, and the exact person they had all been waiting on.

"Today's issue, sir," Exodus said, obviously none too pleased. "Likely the reason for the X-Men's messenger request yesterday, I presume."

Magneto turned his attention to the newspaper. The first thing that he noticed was the headline, 'The Return of the Unrecht.' That prodded him to examine the photo, taken by Peter Parker. It was of the latest victim of the serial murders plaguing New York City, featuring the very statue that Parker's most famous photo had inspired.

"I wonder if they will make a statue of this," Magneto said flatly. The leader was in place of the man.

"But there is more," Exodus said. He set a printout on top of the paper. "This is what will likely go out tomorrow."

Mass, international television and radio broadcasts had become slim since the destruction of all the satellites during the war. Two new ones had been launched, with the aid of Magneto himself. It was what had brought him into the good graces of many of the world leaders. The new satellites restored the more official broadcasts, and allowed three channels to show worldwide as well. Still, news was slow and most local news, even of serial killers, took the back seat to more international concerns. As a recognized leader in his own right, and due to his part in getting the satellites into orbit, Magneto had access to lesser available news events, such as the report Exodus now showed him.

Magneto read over the report. The overview was that the tenth victim, one Paige Guthrie, was a younger sibling to the previous victim, Sam Guthrie, otherwise known as Cannonball, a former member of the junior team of the X-Men. Speculations, though unfounded with any real evidence, but intriguing all the same, linked the deaths to the statue and the modern fable, thus drawing the conclusion that the police may be looking at a ghost as their prime suspect.

Magneto said nothing, but raised his eyebrows in question to Exodus.

"Sir, if the rumors here have truth in them—"

An upraised hand silenced Exodus from further speaking. Magnus then addressed the gathered persons. "We will reconvene in a few hours. Information has been brought to my attention that may warrant discussion, but first I must verify some things."

They gave him curious glances, but did as he told and left.

"Find out what else you can and report back to me," Magneto told Exodus, dismissing him.

Once the room was empty and the doors closed, he dialed the phone. Three rings passed before it was answered.

Magneto didn't wait for Mystique's greeting on the other end of the line, just asked, "Has she arrived yet?"

"I'm in conference now, that is why it took so long to answer. Can this not wait? I can tell her to contact you after we're done."

"I'm afraid I must speak to her now. Convey to her that it is indeed urgent."

Sigh. "It must be for you to break protocol like this. Hold on."

He heard hushed voices in the background followed by the messenger's familiar voice over the line, asking, "What's the emergency?" She was not happy.

"Was the X-Men's request accepted or not?"

A long pause.

"That's two rules broken in two minutes," the messenger said, the southern thickening her words slightly with her agitation. "Are ya gonna clue me in to why?"

"Three actually," he said, "Since my reasons suggest that I used my own sources to track down why they insisted on the timeliness of the meeting."

"I hope it's worth it, Magnus, 'cause if Narcisse gets wind of it, the privileges will be severed."

"Something has happened, then?" There was nearly as much hope in his tone as there was concern in it. The man gained on the leader. So much so, they both overlooked that it was because of her accidental over speaking.

"Lord Magneto," she said, reminding him of their roles.

He continued despite the additional warning. "I think it is imperative that _you_ accept their request for assistance on the investigation into the serial murders. If _you_ do not, suspicions will surmount and the Underground may suffer. _You_ may suffer."

"And your proof?"

"The Daily Bugle. Complete with another award-worthy photo by Parker."

"I'll look into it," she said. It was curt, but it was a second grave slip.

"What about Narcisse?" His question was just as much of a slip up. It told her he caught hers. It told her too closely of his sometimes hopes.

"Your status is secure for now." She was angry.

Magneto hissed, "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"We. Will. Handle. It. Lord Magneto."

And the line went dead.

We. Not Fausse and Narcisse. Not the Underground. Not I. _We._

He shut the blinds, severing his view of the kids in recess outside.

* * *

At 8:55 PM the doorbell rang. Jubilee answered it, then immediately went and found the Professor in the library having an amusing conversation with Storm, Logan, Piotr, Remy, Tabitha, and Illyana.

"What is it, Jubilee?"

"Uh... Magneto is at the front door."

Xavier shared a look with Storm, and then said, "Inform Scott, Cable, and Psylocke." To Jubilee, he added, "Show him to my office, please."

"Okay, but, he asked to talk to Gambit... Alone."

All eyes moved to Remy, who flashed a cocky grin and said, "Gambit be de popular one, hein?"

* * *

_See you next chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3 Numb

**Disclaimer: **Good thing Remy doesn't want another flirty-frenchie-tongue around lapping for Rogue or else Marvel might own my Évariste Gavet along with all the rest of the X-Men characters.

**Chapter Three**

_Unable so lost,  
I can't find my way,  
Been searching, but I have never seen,  
A turning, a turning from deceit._

_'Cause the child roses like,  
Try to reveal what I could feel,  
I can't understand myself anymore,  
'Cause I'm still feeling lonely,  
Feeling so unholy._

_'Cause the child roses like,  
Try to reveal what I could feel,  
And this loneliness,  
It just won't leave me alone, oh no._

_I'm fooling somebody,  
A faithless path to roam,  
Deceiving to breath this secretly,  
A silence, this silence I can't bear._

_'Cause a child roses light,  
Try to reveal what I could feel,  
And this loneliness,  
It just won't leave me alone, oh no,  
And this loneliness,  
It just won't leave me alone._

_A lady of war,  
A lady of war._

_("Numb," Portishead)_

**-**

"I can see why she found you so fetching, Remy," Magnus said. He was seated behind Xavier's desk in Xavier's study looking very much at home. His bearing registered he was a man of great power and knew how to wield it, yet he was relaxed, unstressed, confident, not arrogant. In another life, in a different world he may have been as such though. That was easy for Remy to see.

"But," Magnus continued, cutting off Remy's cocky grin before it had fully emerged, "Do not be tempted to seek anything more of it. It is a lost cause... believe me."

"'S not my fault if she can't help herself," Gambit replied a little too knowingly. His empathy had picked up on the patient longing Magnus' voice concealed so well. "'S just part of my natural charm, n'est-ce pas?"

A grim smile tried to peak out, but Magnus' schooled expression kept it in check. "So much effort for someone you will never see the face of? For all you know she could be grossly disfigured. For all the years I have known her, even I have never seen beyond the hood and shadow."

"But she is a woman, no less," Remy said, wistful and toying, "And deserves to be treasured all de same, non?" He leaned forward then, sharing a secret with the man. "You see it too, don't you? Je ne sais quoi..." _I can't describe it_, "…Feisty."

"That is quite enough."

Gambit didn't let up. "But it isn't, is it? You are not quite satisfied are you?"

"You are mincing my—"

"The cloak's texture is tres magnifique, oui?" Remy bore his red on black eyes into the cold steely blue of Magneto's. Remy's words and the confrontation of gazes were both a distraction and a provocation so he could search Magneto with his empathy. Gambit grazed his thief-gloved hand against his stubble as he added, "In the dark like dat, I couldn't see it, but it was soft even t'rough dis scruff."

Magneto narrowed his eyes on Gambit. Minuscule as the gesture was, it reeked of volatile danger.

"I couldn't quite place de material it was made of at first," Gambit said before leaned back in his chair on the opposite side of Xavier's desk as Magnus. "Like a second skin, in its own way." He mimicked Magnus' posture and position perfectly, down to the folded hands in his lap, left over right. "And once I figured it out, I realized I should've recognized it right away. My t'ievin' gloves are made of the same material. It's suede. Expensive, very expensive, even for a member of Le Souterrain. Hasn't been much in production since early in de war. How long has it been since you've seen de stuff yourself, Magneto? 'Sides on her?"

A sigh, and then, "I see your point, Gambit."

"Do you?"

"I do. And many of the implications it conjures, but it changes nothing. We must all follow protocols or be cut off. Even I—" Magnus clenched his fists. When they relaxed again, he continued, "I will reveal nothing to satisfy your... curiosity. And she, she will stay hooded and shadowed at the cost of your life if she feels it is necessary. So, do as instructed, and hope she doesn't decide she'd like the chase."

"It is de lady's choice," Gambit said, the cocky grin finally breaking free. "Gambit not one to disappoint."

Rising, Magneto said, "Thought as much myself at one time. Though, I lacked your spirit in the game. It's tiring to find yourself caught, to reach back, and find nothing there but ghosts—sshadows and air."

"And yet here y' are."

Magneto nodded. He was at the door, handle in hand.

"T'ink she be worth it, non?" Not even Remy was sure it he meant it more as a taunt or an honest question. Either way, Magneto refused the bait.

"I will be keeping tabs, Gambit. One hour there. One hour back. I will return... as she instructed."

"A short rein and not much mercy," Remy said, chuckling, as he rose from his chair. He was full of mirth and mischief.

"She has been given little, and has not much to spare."

They parted ways, leaving no notice to Xavier or the others... as she had instructed.

* * *

"I don't have all night. Ya know the drill." Not only was she already short of temper, but also she was tired. Her voice cracked with a faint twang.

Same place, same scenario, and Gambit complied without a fight. A note at his feet, ten paces back, and sensory deprivation caused by being in the tunnels churned things in him. He could almost feel the soft and supple suede brush against his cheek when he heard the shuffle of her feet and the whisper of paper as she picked up the handwritten request. Ten paces away and he could feel it.

_Deja vous be funny like dat._

"Shouldn't have needed a war to prove we're all the same, just people." She said it so frankly, it startled him.

He recovered quickly. "I agree, but why you say dat, now?"

"Maggots to a corpse," she said, "You all want a touch."

He cringed. "A morbid way of t'inkin' it."

"No less than a war required." A shuffle of feet and he felt her _fatigued chill_, almost like she was projecting it at his empathy. A rustle of paper as she unfolded the request and read it, then, "Mighty tall request. Magneto could've saved you the trouble."

"He didn't know," Gambit said.

He wasn't so suspicious and weary of the meeting's specifications this time so he had been exerting extra effort to hold his empathy in check, refraining from violating the 'no powers' rule this time. Even when he belted them tighter, he still felt her there. Her emotions were shoving themselves at him; so strong they were, so weak her control. A _burn_ and a _shiver_, she felt like. But that didn't describe it well enough. _Need_, unadulterated and undiluted _need_ was nearly all he felt from her. It reminded him of drug addicts from when he lived on the streets, before joining up with the X-Men. It was so fierce it felt like it was his own need, his own withdrawal. It made it difficult for him to concentrate. The sensation was second-hand for him, but it was first-hand in her, so he wondered how she was able to think beyond it.

…_Stick to de purpose. De X-men's request, Cypher, solving the murder, Cannonball and Husk are dead…_

Forcing himself to focus on their conversation, he finished answering her, saying, "De wolfman's sure dat if Cypher had de choice, he'd help. Dey were clo—"

"He knew them," she said with a sharp intake of breath.

She'd read him... maybe. He rationalized that she could have known Cypher's history with the X-Men and had made the connection through logic. Still, the possibility that she was reading his thoughts sobered him to the intensity of her need.

"Oui," _yes_, he confirmed.

"I'll agree to meet and look over the files myself. The rest... Don't hope for much, but I'll bring the request to him—Narcisse—and Fausse—them... to the Underground."

A chuckle. "Told Magnus you couldn't resist."

"We all crave a taste of the other side." It was a whisper right beside his ear.

Gambit's hand instinctively drew to his neck, where goose bumps formed from her whisper. He could've sworn he felt her breath kiss him there when she spoke, but it had been no more tangible than an imagined fantasy. He was sure of that much because there had been no shuffle of feet, no variation in orientation of her—_shiver_ and _burn_—and not enough time before she spoke again, voice stabbing the darkness, interrupting it emptiness.

Aloud, she said, "Nothing more." It wasn't whispered. It didn't caress his neck. It was spoken from the previous distance.

He cringed, not that she would see it in the black of the tunnels, and asked, "Telepath?" He wasn't fond of people stealing his thoughts.

"Hmm... That's one way to see in the dark." A beat. "Ten minutes, like before."

He waited what he hoped was fifteen... again.

* * *

Kitty uncrossed her legs, rubbed her eyes, and stretched as much as her desk chair allowed. It wasn't enough. She'd spent hours staring at code on the screens, hunched over the keyboards, balancing wires and chips and boards on her lap, and reaching in all sorts or weird angles. She had spread out the guts of Paige's computer, the disks found in Paige's apartment, and the printouts of diagnostics she'd run thus far on all free surfaces around her: the desk, her lap, the floor, and nearby stools. It had left her with a crick in her neck, burning muscles in her upper back, a pounding headache, red and dry eyes, and pins and needles in her feet. Sitting Indian style in the chair for so long wasn't the brightest idea, but she'd needed the floor space below her clear for the skeleton of Paige's computer.

Simple stretching would not relieve the discomfort Kitty felt this time. She needed a break, one where she could get up and walk around. A sparring session with Logan or Kurt followed by a full meal in the company of Piotr and Illyana, if they were still awake at this late hour, sounded like the perfect remedy. She left her room at the mansion in search of both.

* * *

Weary and aching, Xavier messaged his temples. That day's newspaper sat like a poisonous snake on the desk in front of him. The headline, 'The Return of the Unrecht,' was its hissing warning. None of them would touch it.

"This is ridiculous," Scott said, though he wouldn't pick it up either, "A ghost, and still she's killing us off."

"It is merely sensationalism," Storm said in her serene and calming tone as she rested a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Its purpose is to sell papers and give people a face for their fears. Better a superstition than an innocent individual."

Xavier hid his wince in his down-tilted face and temples-messaging hands. Logan caught a wisp of it, but declined to question it for the time being.

"They'll be afraid of their own shadow," Cable said. "How is that better? It's bad enough that kids still tell it. Ghost stories don't do anything but increase the public's fear and paranoia."

"It gives them an answer, Nathan," Storm explained. "False as it may be, superstitions and fables give them peace of mind... even hope."

"But we know it was true!" Scott stood so forcefully his chair clambered to the floor. "We treated her right here in this house. She _killed_ Jean. Then we saw her _die_ in the Morlock tunnels almost six years ago!"

"Stop it, all of you!" It was Xavier. His unexpected, out-of-character outburst surprised them all... save one.

"What do you know, Chuck?" Logan had been quiet throughout the debate. He'd learned long ago that voicing his opinion on this particular topic equated the futility of slicing his claws through a phased Kitty during a practice session, but his heightened senses picked up on the sudden drop then rise in Xavier's heart rate and the smell of Xavier's increased sweating. Xavier had a secret. Logan had suspected it for a while—others did too—but in an attempt to keep Scott, and maybe even Cable, from going off the handle over it, they'd kept their suspicions quiet. Recent events, however, may necessitate a turnover of that.

Xavier, in response to Logan's accusation, began, "I have to..."

Xavier trailed off as a faraway look overtook him. A moment later, he blinked back to reality.

"Gambit is back," Xavier said, relieved for the subject change, "Magnus will be here shortly, and I have to prepare to travel for a media conference in the morning. These news articles and Magnus' inquiries are stirring up old fears regarding mutants. The conference will attend to this issue before it can become a more serious problem again."

"Seems our truce is not as solid as we'd hoped," Cable said.

"That, or the chance to sell more papers far outweighs our efforts during the war," Scott added.

Scott had become more and more bitter every year following Jean's death. After Rogue died in the attempted Morlock massacre, the war was his remaining primary outlet for his vengeance. But now, that was gone as well.

"Do not jump to conclusions, my friend," Storm soothed.

Storm's role had doubled after Jean's death. Her wisdom and calm dictated her as mediator among the team leaders. She hadn't been granted the luxury of being hardened the same way that Scott, Xavier, Betsy, and Cable had.

"I hear ya," Logan huffed under his breath.

Storm heard Logan, but knew from experience to let it drop. When he wanted to be heard, he would be. Logan hadn't relied on Storm as much as them, but he didn't do much to lighten her load either. His apathy to the others' issues—Scott's, Xavier's, Cable's, and even Betsy's—kept him at a distance as much as his work with the police did. The latter, though, Storm figured, was a result of the former.

"And don't you be so quick to accept," Scott spat out. He righted his chair as he continued, "The benefit of the doubt has caused more deaths on this team than I want to recount."

Storm stepped up to him, then, facing him squarely, she said, "And do the lives it has saved us mean so little?" It was her one sore spot, as Scott well knew, and the very thing that landed her in the motherly role. "What of the Morlocks? Had we not trusted Gambit—"

"Not this again," Scott interrupted. He fell into his seat, exasperated.

Logan chuckled to himself. If there was one thing he admired most about the weather goddess, it was her fierce sense of loyalty. The team may well have broken apart and dispersed if she had not worked so hard to keep them together.

"—many more would have been lost," Ororo continued as if Scott hadn't spoke. "I know you value Kitty and Jubilee's lives more than that."

"And had you not delayed with your arguing against trusting him…" Psylocke interjected, but was unable to finish. It wasn't needed anyways. Everyone assembled in the room was well aware of her loss.

Gambit entered then, the sound of the door opening and closing an interruption to the tension but not a reprieve from it. Their emotions bombarded his empathy. It felt as though he waded through thick pea soup when he made his way to Storm. He bucked up to it, though, falling into his own social function on the team. Over the five years he had been with them he had carved his own role, much like Storm had. His role layered on top of hers, to an extent. Storm mediated, Bobby amused, and in between was Gambit. He provoked their sense of adventure... and he tried to tempt them into appreciating the finer things in life, even if most of them had a less debauched, less taboo idea for exactly what those finer things were than he did.

"Everyone can relax," He exclaimed before planting a brotherly kiss on Storm's cheek. A broad and confident grin eclipsed his worrisome expression from sensing the tension and he finished with, "Gambit has returned."

"What's got you so happy, Gumbo?" Logan hadn't needed to ask. His nose gave him quite the clue to the reason motivating Gambit's jovial mood.

Gambit flounced onto the empty couch and said, "De cherie has bite."

"Should've known," Cable said.

Logan groused, but with wan humor. "You're one giant hormone, you know that?"

"No point tryin' to deny it," Gambit said. He sat up and leaned on the arm to talk to Logan directly. "Mais, de spicier de femme, de better."

Logan sniffed and grimaced. The scent on Gambit was faint and muddled from the tunnels and the passage of time, but it seemed familiar nonetheless. From something—someone—long ago... He shook his head to clear it.

"What?" Gambit asked.

It wasn't anything Logan could pinpoint accurately, but... He looked to Xavier, who was saved from Logan's scrutiny by Scott's impatience.

"Can we skip past your boasting and get to the important part?"

"Not much to tell, tru'fully," Gambit said. "Went a lot smoother dis time. No fight." He chuckled. Remembrance had candy coated the previous incident.

Xavier asked, "Did she have a decision from our first request, at least?"

"Oui. She's going to personally visit to look over de files."

"And the rest?" Xavier again. His avoidance of specifically mentioning Cypher was noticed, but overlooked out of respect.

"She'll present it. Didn't promise not'ing of it."

Xavier nodded.

"Anything else," Cable asked.

A long pause while he considered the weight and worth of his observations, then very quietly, he admitted, "Oui."

Gambit regretted not stopping to retrieve his trench and cards from his room before debriefing. He fingers itched to shuffle them right then. He resolved to picking at a loosened thread on the arm of the couch.

"Don't feel right mentioning it for some reason," he finally said, "Mais, if I'm going to say it, I'd best say it before Magneto arrives."

That got all of their attention.

"I t'ink she's a telepath," Gambit said as he exhaled. He didn't feel lighter after saying it. "It's definitely not somet'ing she wants known, yet—"

Gambit looked pointedly to Logan, then to Xavier. The rule of no telepaths or individuals with heightened senses struck him like a lonely, lingering, final harmonica note that waned: _The rule was specifically for them two_. He decided he'd have to do some research on that through the remains of the disbanded thieves guild. Her history, considering he didn't have much to go on to identify her with, he figured, would be like trying to put together a poorly manufactured jigsaw puzzle. It wouldn't be easy. But, Gambit was never one to be turned off by a challenge. And, the danger it would present only added to it, making it a gamble of high risks, especially since she seemed to be daring him into it.

"—She basically held up a neon sign," Gambit continued, "Read my t'oughts and said dem to me."

"I see," Xavier said.

Xavier seemed unfazed by the comment, but Gambit's empathy picked up that Xavier was trying hard to keep control of his emotions. A lot of the X-Men did that in Gambit's presence on certain occasions. Trust only went so far.

"It's probably not'ing," Gambit said. He wanted to lighten the mood again, so he added, "She was probably just flirting." The cocky grin had returned.

* * *

"I see Deathbird came through with the new portal," Évariste said in amusement.

Locke didn't look so bad. His wacky expression—one eye formation enormous, starred, and a good three inches out from the rest of his face—wasn't unusual. Cypher's, however, was. He was flushed, and hair and clothes were severely windblown... though there was no wind involved in their mode of travel. The portal was instantaneous. Its design mimicked Lila Cheney's mutant power of interstellar teleportation.

"Static electricity is still higher than they'd promised," Cypher said with a shrug.

Locke smiled big and raised a finger-like formation to Cypher's arm. A tiny bolt jumped from Cypher's arm to Locke's finger. Locke jerked back and emitted a sound Évariste had associated as laughter. Cypher joined in with his best friend's fun.

Évariste smiled contentedly. He was proud of the family he had gained in his years as Patriarche de Le Souterrain, _co-leader of the Underground_. Though, if anyone ever called Fausse the Matriarch, she'd probably snuff their synapses. For a nap time, at least.

A glint in Cypher's eye and he said, "You were right about Deathbird. Elle est une pouffiasse, rien plus." _She is a bitch/whore, nothing more._

Caught off guard, a moment passed before Évariste erupted in laughter. Cypher's beaming at Évariste's reaction only made Évariste laugh harder. Tears were pinched out of his eyes.

An unexpected voice. "...Finally rubbing off on you, Cypher?"

Cypher, caught off guard by her silent entrance, turned a sheepish grin on her and blushed faintly. Fausse's smile was hidden within her hood, but it had been evident in her voice.

She closed in on Cypher and gave his cheek a sisterly pinch with a gloved hand. "Good to see he hasn't ruined all of your boyish charms... yet."

Cypher shyly turned his face from her hand and stepped back to give Évariste room to move in. Experience had taught him that Fausse and Narcisse couldn't stay out of direct physical contact with each other for very long when they were in such close proximity to each other. He didn't know all the complicated details of their situation that caused them to literally need each other's physical contact, and often wondered if they even knew—but whatever it was, it was dangerous to come in between them. More so, though, he gave up the distance because he knew the hood was a warning even when she initiated nearness. As much an expert as she was at concealing her face within the shadows of the hood so that even when close enough to touch nothing distinct could be seen, she considered the lingering of nearness an invasion of her privacy.

Of all the people in the Underground, Cypher and Locke were the closest to Fausse and Narcisse. They were two of a very few who'd known their true identities and roles in the Underground. In Cypher's opinion, Narcisse and Fausse more than deserved their status and what some would rationalize as paranoid precautions. They were responsible for banding together the wayward mutants and humans from a rag tag group that called themselves the Morlocks, with so many others, caring for them, directing a purpose for them, integrating them into black market styled societies, and divulging a sort of acceptance for them. They made the Underground a society people wanted to be part of. Not just for its influence and stature, but for its reputation of truly caring for its members. Still, the Underground was a force to be reckoned with, and its leaders, Fausse and Narcisse, the tangible symbol of that strength and power. Regardless of how deserving they were, how respected they were, their interaction with the more devious types naturally invited less than savory attempts at usurping their holdings.

"A bad day?" Cypher asked once he was a safe distance back from Fausse, about five feet. By the time his concern was voiced, Narcisse was already to Fausse and had reached a comforting hand into the shadows of her hood.

Cypher was so mesmerized in watching their interaction he didn't even noticed that Fausse failed to respond to him. Since he couldn't see Évariste's hand any more than he could see Fausse's face, he presumed Évariste was cupping her cheek right then. He could see Évariste's features very well, though, as his eyes were locked in the space of the hood's interior shadows. The intensity in Évariste's gaze was staggering and Cypher's sympathy went out to him. Évariste's feelings for Fausse were no secret among their innermost circle of confidantes. Still, if Cypher had no more evidence than the way Évariste was looking at her right then, Cypher would have no doubt of the depths of Évariste's emotions. It was also no secret that, though Fausse cared immensely for Narcisse, loved him in her own way even, Fausse did not return Évariste's sentiments to the same extent, as Évariste so desperately yearned. Fausse needed him, yes, loved him, yes, but she did not want him.

Cypher looked away with a blush. He suddenly felt like an intruder in a supremely intimate moment between his close friends and leaders.

"We'll leave you to... to... to," Cypher stammered. He never was good at awkward moments like these. He grabbed Locke's arm formation and pulled him towards the main door.

"No, wait, Cypher," Fausse said. It was breathless, a revelation of the potency of their satiating the fix, even a taste, as it were.

Cypher turned back to them to find that Fausse had broken the connection he'd born witness to. Though not quite so intimate, they were still in contact. Évariste was tracing invisible patterns on her back, shoulder, and arm, atop her constant hooded garment.

"I got a request today that calls for your attention," Fausse explained. "It's for the X-Men... in a round about way."

"You wouldn't ask if you didn't think I'd want to take it," Cypher said. "What is it?"

A small movement of the hood was all the movement Cypher saw as Fausse looked to Évariste to continue for her. It wasn't the happiest of subjects, Cypher and Évariste very well knew, for her either.

"How much have you seen of the news recently?" Évariste asked the question of Cypher, but continued to look into the hood's shadows.

"Not in the last few days," Cypher answered. "Maybe a week ago, last."

"The murders... The count is up to ten now," Évariste said, his eyes still on Fausse. "The detectives and—" a pause for silent confirmation via their fix or Fausse's telepathy, Cypher wasn't sure which, then, "—Wolverine believes vital evidence is trapped on a computer they cannot gain access to. Kitty is in over her head on it. She can get it, but it will take too long. Weeks, at least. They need your help."

Fausse stepped away from Évariste and their connection was broken. Évariste moved his gaze from the hood's shadows when the hood shifted back so the shadowed interior faced Cypher again. She came right up to Cypher. She pushed the hood back from her face to let it rest against her back. She wanted to let him see her. She wanted to look him in the eye as she gave him the bad news. It was the barest consolation she could give him.

She gave him a moment to allow the distraction of the state of her face to wear off. It was indeed a bad day. Lanx was showing itself there; just one of the reasons for the hood. Organic circuitry corrupted the fair skin on her right cheek, curving up her temple and into her hairline. The right eye itself was duller than usual and it seemed lazy. Though Lanx wasn't visibly present on the eye itself, it was creeping up on it from behind it. Her telepathy told her he wondered, momentarily, if it affected her mind at all. She almost smiled at that. He was worried for her.

Finally, she told him, "Sam and Paige Guthrie have been killed, Doug."

A few blinks and then his tears came, slowly, as if the longer it took for them to fall the better the chances were that Fausse would say she'd made a mistake with the names before his tears had even reached his cheeks. It wasn't a mistake, though.

"Of course, I'll do it," Cypher said before his voice got too choked up.

Fausse squeezed his hand in her gloved hand. She could not offer any more direct comfort. Even a hug was too dangerous while the circuitry was spread on her face. If it got too close to him, there was a chance she could infect him. She would not chance that.

Évariste and Locke were not under the same restrictions. They embraced him for her and for themselves.

Fausse stepped back from the trio, pulled up her hood, and contented herself to watching the display of affection from afar. Always from afar. Only Évariste was spared that distance. It both angered her and relieved her.

* * *

_See you next chapter!_


	4. Chapter 4 Mysterons

**Disclaimer:** (checks under the bed) Dag nabbit, Gambit stole them back for Marvel!

**Chapter Four**

_Inside you're pretending,  
Crimes have been swept aside,  
Somewhere, where they can forget._

_Divine upper reaches,  
Still holding on,  
This ocean will not be grasped.  
All for nothing_

_Did you really want,  
Did you really want,  
Did you really want,  
Did you really want._

_Refuse to surrender,  
Strung out until ripped apart,  
Who dares, who dares to condemn  
All for nothing_

_Did you really want,  
Did you really want,  
Did you really want,  
Did you really want._

_("Mysterons," Portishead)_

**-**

Through the fix, Fausse knew it upset Narcisse when she wore the cloak and hood in private moments... in bed. Well, she was about to upset him even more.

She rolled her eyes to glance at the clock. 2:12 AM in red on black, it read, a double reminder that she had to leave for the meeting with Gambit, Magneto, Logan, Bishop, Storm, and _the_ _telepaths_. The meeting was to be at three.

Évariste tightened his arm around her waist and nuzzled his face into the side of her hood. He would have preferred to nuzzle into her hair, but the hood covered it. Soft and supple as the suede was, it wasn't quite the same.

"Je ne l'aime pas," _I do not like it_, he told her.

"I know," she said. She raised his hand, the one from her waist, to her lips and gave it a gentle kiss. "I promise I'll be careful."

Still hungry for contact, he draped one leg over hers, and, with the hand she had kissed, he traced the circuitry from Lanx on her face. The motion conveniently pushed aside the hood, baring the right side of her face, some of her hair on that side, her neck, and a small portion of her shoulder from the cover of the cloak.

"Vous n'avez pas eu assez." _You did not have enough_. A kiss into her hair. "Vous serez faible." _You will be weak_. A kiss to her shoulder. "Vulnérable." _Vulnerable_. A kiss to the edge of the circuitry.

There was no danger to him with regards to being infected by Lanx. The fix had seen to that.

_Je pourrais jamais avoir assez_. It came unbidden. _I could never have enough_.

They were no more than whispered thoughts, yet he knew she'd hear it through the catch or her telepathy, even if she didn't acknowledge it with anything more than a flinch.

She sighed, preparing to placate him again, to reassure him of her loyalty again, when he cut her off.

"Je me pense vraiment devrais aller avec vous," _I really think I should go with you_, he said, propping himself up on one elbow so as to look down at her protectively… caringly.

She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and fought the potent need to lie back down with him.

"You can't," she said. "It isn't safe."

He sat up as well. He moved in behind her, laying his cheek to her back. He could feel the movement of her shoulder blades as she pulled on her boots.

"Wolverine will be there," she reminded him. "He's the one with the heightened senses. It's bad enough he might smell you on me."

She turned to face him... and to get his head off of her. Gestures such as that only served to make it harder for her to depart. The pull of the fix, especially when not fully satiated, was heady stuff.

"He was the one you ran into when Cypher and Locke left them," she continued, "Remember?"

He nodded reluctantly as he absentmindedly drew patterns on her still bare hand.

She pulled her hand away.

"He could recognize you, Évariste," she told him firmly.

"C'était il y a des années," _It was years ago_, he rationalized. The need in him directed him to convince her not to leave yet.

"It will be suspicious," she said, turning away from him again. She pulled on her gloves. "They're distrusting folk. If you're there they'll start questioning my function in the Underground. And what about Lord Magneto, huh? What would he think? By our own rules, unless there's extreme circumstances or an additional purpose being served, a Messenger always makes contact alone."

She felt bad bringing up Magneto, but she knew the reaction it would have on him. It picked at his insecurities for her feelings toward him.

"Bien! Vous gagnez!" _Fine! You win!_ He got off the bed, opposite of her, to refrain from touching her further.

She shot up. "This is not a game, Évariste." She stomped around the bed, but caught herself halfway along the foot of it. "You've seen the papers. We are powerful in our own right, but we are not Gods!"

She checked the time on the clock, using the gesture to collect and calm herself. She knew it was the fix talking. She knew she'd goaded him into his jealousy—which hammered her through her telepathy and the fix. She had to get him to let her go. Still... 2:24 AM, red on black, warned her she was going to be late.

"I don't have time for this."

"Il sera là," _He will be there_, he said, making it a question. His voice was so fearful and disappointed, like a pouting child, it made her ache. "Magneto? Et cet autre homme que vous pensez à aussi? Ils ont un soin pour vous? Ils surveilleront votre bien-être?" _And this other man whom you think of too? They have a care for you? They will keep watch over your well being?_

"You have nothing to worry about. I'll be back as soon as I can."

A fine tremor ran through her. They were so close, and the need not completely satisfied, that like him, her body yearned to close the gap between them.

"Vous n'avez aucun choix. Il est fixe." _You have no choice. It is fixed._ There was disgust in it for the first time in a long time.

She nodded.

Defeated, he sat on the bed, facing away from her. "J'attendrai..." _I will wait..._

"You don't have a choice. It's fixed." His own words back at him, only sadly. Slowly she went to his side, hood upraised. "I will be careful." She kissed his cheek.

He caught her there, dipped his face into the shadow of the hood, and met her lips with his. The urgency in the kiss wasn't just from the need.

"Je t'aime." _I love you_, he told her, and meaning it more than she ever could.

She rested her forehead to his for a long moment. She didn't say it back, knowing how he'd take it. But she did love him. She loved him in her own way.

* * *

Caffeine and frosted pastries littered several end tables around the Xavier's office.

"I don't like it," Cable said. He, along with the others—Xavier, Magneto, Wolverine, Bishop, Gambit, Storm, Cyclops, and Psylocke—eyed the object of offense that sat on top of Xavier's desk.

"Me either," Bishop said.

"I have dealt with her for years, precisely under these regulations," Magneto said with impatience. "It is quite safe. Remember she will be as powerless as the rest of us."

"What exactly does it do?" That was Storm.

"It emits a disruption field that will nullify all powers, mutant or engineered, other than physiological alterations," answered Magneto. "You'll still have your claws, Wolverine, and you, Gambit, the coloring of your eyes. The rest of us, I believe, will not retain any of our mutation."

"The range?" asked Storm.

"In this location? All of the mansion, including the underground facilities directly under it up to four standard floor levels." He pointed towards the window, where part of the grounds could be seen, the outdoor pool just on the edge. "The pool area will be covered... after that it'll be intermittent."

"It's Shi'ar in design," Xavier said.

"Yes."

"How long until she gets here," Psylocke asked, "I could be sleeping right now. If it affects the whole building, why couldn't I have stayed in bed?"

"She is especially distrustful of telepaths, Psylocke," Magneto said. "Even if your powers are inactive, she wants to be able to see you. Which reminds me, Charles." He faced Charles directly for this part. "Are you absolutely certain there are no other telepaths on the grounds?"

"None," Xavier answered.

"Not even among the students?"

"I understood your directions clearly, Erik."

"I'm not insinuating that you did not. I merely wanted to make certain. She has sensor devices specifically targeted for signaling even the weakest presence of that particular gene sequence."

"Does she really make you collect all the telepaths into your office when she meets with you?" Scott asked incredulously.

"At first she did," Magneto said without rebuff. "For the first year at least. To this day any new arrival or visitor with the ability must be present during our meetings."

"Even with the nullifier in effect?" Storm asked.

Magneto nodded.

"Is dat why you don't invite telepaths to your province much?" Gambit asked. The insinuation was clear. Gambit was toying with him, not to be cruel, so much, but to learn more about the messenger, herself. Of course, if it needled Magneto in the process, that was a bonus.

"My reasons are my reasons, Gambit," Magneto answered.

"I wonder why she doesn't like them so much," Wolverine said while looking at Xavier. The combination of the scent he'd smelled on Gambit, the possibility of her being a telepath as Gambit had told them, and the evidence of Xavier having a secret were adding up for him.

"How about it, Magneto," Gambit asked, "De femme ever tell y' why?"

"No. Nor, have I ever indulged my curiosity by asking. I advise that you refrain from questioning her on that or any other personal matter as well."

"She's closed herself off," Psylocke said. Her eyes were focused on nothing in particular, almost like when she spoke telepathically with someone, almost like she was seeing inside herself. "She is a lady of war."

"Maybe," Bishop said, "But which one?"

"It is time," Magneto said and flipped the switch.

There was no flash of light. There was no explosion or pulse, just a faint hum like that of a refrigerator. They all felt somewhat dizzy and disoriented for a few minutes, but they would have time to recover before the meeting convened. As dictated, she would arrive ten minutes following the appointed time the nullifier was to be activated.

* * *

Kitty was still up. Her last break lasted two hours long. During it, she'd sparred with Logan, who had needed to work off some steam while Gambit was off meeting with the messenger. Then she had a late dinner with Piotr. Well, she ate while Piotr kept her company. After that, she and he read a bedtime story to his little sister Illyana. The two hours were over too quickly and Kitty soon found herself again sitting cross-legged in the desk chair. She'd been back to dissecting Paige's computer for five hours now and was considering quitting for the night to get some much-needed sleep.

She uncurled her legs and rose to stand. She was unsteady on her feet, splintered by pins and needles as the circulation returned to her legs. She leaned on the desk and chair to keep from stumbling too much. Feeling foolish, she groped furniture for support as she traversed the distance from desk to bed. It wasn't easy since she had to maneuver her footing between the delicate guts of Paige's computer, printouts, and discs that she'd scattered all around the floor.

Just as she was to collapse in her bed, too tired to fully undress, she heard a knock on her door. A sigh, then she went to answer it. Deciding she was way too tired to fight stepping around the equipment, she tried to phase so she could air-walked over top the mess, but couldn't. She remembered the warning about the Shi'ar nullifier and did it the old-fashioned way, using the wall for support this time.

Once to the door, she leaned lazily against the wall and opened it.

"This had better be good," she said, slowly drawing her eyes up to see her visitor. "It is three—"

"I know," Cypher said, "I'm sorry, but the messenger makes the rules."

"Doug?" Kitty threw her arms around him in an elated hug. "Oh my God! You came. You actually came."

"How could I not?" Cypher asked. "It's Sam and his little sis."

A Technarch spiky head with one protruding enlarged eye, one more naturally sized eye, and a widespread grin snaked between the frame and Cypher's head. "Friend-Kitty!"

"Warlock!" Kitty squealed and hugged the spiky head.

"It's just Locke now," Cypher said. Seriousness had crept in.

Sobered, Kitty said, "I guess we're all a bit tired of war."

"Of burying friends," Cypher added.

"Yeah," Kitty said sadly, knowingly. She pushed the door fully open and gestured them inside. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

No knock preceded her entrance. She hadn't felt the need to announce her arrival. They were expecting her and she had necessity to retain the position of authority. Too much rested on her maintaining it and it was about to be jeopardized anyway.

Her own powers were negated, starting over a dozen feet before she reached the front door of the mansion, so she knew they had followed the first point of her directions. Her sensors identified the presence of three telepaths. Specifically, they registered the genetic coding associated with telepathic mutation or enhancement, and indicated that all three signatures were located on the floor level in an area that was approximately fifty-six feet to the northwest of the mansion's foyer. If they'd followed the second point of her directions—that all telepaths on the grounds attend the meeting even though they're powers were inactive—her destination was the room in which the telepaths were.

When she reached that room, she stood in the opened doorway. She wasn't quite in or out, and she kept the length of the hallway, both directions, within her peripheral vision. She was no stranger to functioning without her powers so she was fully aware of the importance of staying alert. She was not about to just walk in there, close the door behind her, and leave herself vulnerable to being trapped or of unwanted guests sneaking up hall. The people waiting for her in the room, however, were obviously not used to such things... especially the telepaths and possessors of heightened senses. They had yet to notice her arrival.

Without preemption, she asked, "Have you adapted to it yet?"

Her voice cut through their conversation like an ambush. They all turned to her, but Xavier, Psylocke, Logan... and surprisingly, Gambit, were the most miffed at her sudden appearance.

She smiled, though they couldn't see it for the shadows of the hood, and said, "I guess not."

Scott broke their silence first, asking, "You knew the location of the Professor's office?"

Logan fought the urge to release his claws and settled for merely growling at her.

"How'd you get in without alerting anyone?" Cable asked.

Cable's question released a slew of exclamations and questions from the others, but they were lost in the mix of them. They indeed were not used to being caught off guard.

Magneto ignored their behavior and did as he was expected to do, as he'd done for years now when she arrived for a meeting. He stepped towards her, no closer than ten paces from her, and nodded congenially.

The hood shifted forward, the only sign that she'd nodded to him in response, and asked, "Are they always like this?"

"I'm afraid so," Magneto answered, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

She raised one hand to disappear into the shadows of the hood and whistled. It was piercing... and lasted a good three seconds or so. It also shut them all up.

After their ears stopped ringing, Logan chuckled and said, "Now I'm glad I didn't have my heightened senses."

"You sure know how to get a guy's attention, don't you," Gambit said with a wink that hinted she'd flashed him rather than just whistled.

"Ya'll done?" she asked. Her tone dared them to utter a sound in response. They didn't, so she continued, "The files—slide them one by one across the floor to me."

"Why don't you come in so we can talk?" Xavier asked.

She ignored him and said, "Announce what each one is before you send it over."

"Let's be reasonable, child," Storm said. "We will all be more comfortable in here."

"I'm comfortable right where I am, thank you," the messenger said sharply, "And I ain't a child." Stern as it was, it sounded petulant, even to her.

"Cramped quarters, Stormy," Gambit said in an attempt to maintain the peace. "You understand how it is."

Magneto turned a sharp glare on Gambit just as Storm nodded sympathetically.

"I'm still waiting..."

Bishop moved up beside Magneto, taking the cue that that was as near to her as he should get. He held up an accordion folder, thick and bulky. "All ten victims," he said before kneeling and shoving it toward her.

Shhhhhhhhh-ump. It slid across the hard wood floor and stopped when her foot stepped on it. The hood didn't shift as she pushed it to the side, making room for the next file to be sent over.

"Sam and Paige," Bishop said while showing her a single manila folder. "Circumstantial evidence in attempt to link the victims."

She caught it with her foot and slid it to the other side.

Bishop held up the final folder, also manila and even thinner, "Murderer's psychological profile."

This one she picked up immediately. The hood remained level during the movement. It was a sign she had kept her attention on them.

"Everyone just stay put," she warned.

She then stood, backed up against the wall to keep them in easy view, and opened the file. She flipped through it quickly, giving it only a cursory overview, pausing briefly at certain things. One such pause took place when she saw the photo of Sam and the ruined Recovery Statue. In black marker, a circle was drawn around the statue of little Rogue, a line extended out to a question mark, and notes were scribbled about the fabled Unrecht.

She closed the file. A pause, a deep breath—marked by the expansion and collapse of the cloak—then, "I've got some questions, but first, I'll let you know... Cypher and Locke are up with Kitty now." She held up a hand to prevent them for interrupting her. "Call up and ask her, if it won't take too much movement. Otherwise, wait until I'm gone to see for yourselves."

"We'll call up," Xavier answered. He nodded to Scott, who tapped a button on a small X-Men badge fastened to his shirt.

"Kitty, it's Cyclops."

"Oh, hey!" Came Kitty's voice through the communicator. "You'll never guess who just showed up."

"Cypher and Warlock?"

"Yeah... How's the meeting going?"

"Later, Kitty. Is everything okay up there?"

"Yeah. We're making a lot of headway already. Though we'd be doing better if Cypher could use his powers."

"I know. Cyclops out." He pressed the button again and the signal was cut.

"Thank you," Bishop said to the messenger. He was sincere. "He will help a lot."

"If there's anything there, he'll find it," she said as she put down the folder she carried. "But we have our own reasons for lending a hand."

"The matter of price," Cable said with indifference. "The Underground always has a price."

"That," she said, as if just realizing it for herself. "...Yes, well, that will be discussed later. It depends..."

"On what?" Scott asked. "We don't want you holding a debt over—"

"Later," she said forcefully. "For now..." She paused, searching for the best way to phrase it. "For now, the Underground admits that helping with the investigation will benefit us too."

"Why's that?" Though Wolverine asked it of her, he was looking at Xavier.

Bishop looked from the messenger to Xavier, and asked, "Are you withholding information?"

"Disclosin' it, more like," the messenger said. "Isn't that right, Chuckie?"

"What's going on, Professor," Scott asked.

"Just hang on a second and you'll see," she said. "If you'll back up a bit? You too, Lord Magneto."

They were hesitant, but they complied. They all took standing positions, though, prepared to dodge and defend themselves if she pulled a weapon.

"You don't have to do this," Magneto said.

She laughed, edgy with fright and irony. "Yeah, I do."

"No, you don't," he insisted. "They came to you for help. You owe them nothing."

Her laughter ceased. The room seemed emptier, yet happier, without it.

Stern again, she said, "Always stepping over your boundaries, Lord Magneto, can be unhealthy for you. You just keep on pushin' it though, don't ya?" Then she waved him off, the topic off, before he could counter. She most definitely didn't want to get into that old quarrel in front of the X-Men.

"Our reasons are our reasons," she said as she reached both hands up to her hood. "We will disclose what we want when we want."

And with that, she pushed the hood back from her face.

* * *

_See you next chapter!_


	5. Chapter 5 Humming

**Disclaimer: ** _(Checks bank account.)_ Yeah… I'm just a little short _(ha!)_ to buy them from Marvel.

**Chapter Five**

_Closer,  
No hesitation,  
Give me,  
All that you have._

_And it's been so long,  
That I can't explain  
And it's been so long,  
Right now, so wrong._

_Naked,  
My thoughts are creeping,  
Too late,  
The show has begun._

_'Cause it's been so long,  
That I can't confess,  
And it's been so long,  
Right now so wrong._

_Is it all as it seems  
So unresolved, so unredeemed,  
If I remain, how will I know._

_'Cause it's been so long,  
That I can't be sure,  
And it's been so wrong,  
Right now, so wrong._

_("Humming," Portishead)_

**-**

Free of the hood, the Messenger's features were revealed—red-brown hair with a white skunk stripe, green eyes like dim jewels, and a pretty, youthful face marred by a patch of Lanx circuitry on her right cheek. They didn't know it, but the patch had shrunk from earlier, thanks in part to the odd strain she carried as well as the partial feeding of the fix.

"Rogue?!" Scott yelled and stormed straight for her. Magneto stopped him with Gambit's help; each had an arm. Fighting Magneto and Gambit's hold, Scott continued yelling, "You killed her!"

Those words were hauntingly familiar. _You killed Jean!_ It was the same as from her memory.

* * *

Seven years or so ago...

She was being shaken awake. It wasn't pleasant. Her head was snapping around. She tried to grab hold of the metal rails at her sides but only grasped the white sheets or empty air. She was weak, too weak to keep her head and limbs from flopping and sagging like a rag doll's.

"You killed her!" Scott's harsh words stabbed her. "You killed Jean!"

"It was an accident," Rogue slurred, fighting to claw out of her rampaging mind. Jean, scared and confused, was in there tearing the place apart. "She… drownin'… wanted ta help… grabbed meh…an' mah skin…"

"Liar!" Scott said. _It couldn't have only a simple mistake. Jean had survived so many battles against so many terrible enemies only to die because an errant slip of the hand? It was inconceivable. Rogue had to have done it on purpose. Someone had to have put Rogue up to it._ He leaned into her and practically growled at her. "Who do you work for?"

"Leave the kid alone," Logan said. Scot hadn't even heard him enter the medlab.

"But she murdered her," Scott explained. _Didn't he get it?_ "I have to know why!"

* * *

Five years ago…

She was on her own again. Wrong time and place again. Another battle not her own. Another swim in the tarry depths of her consciousness… her conscience… Again.

"That's Rogue! That girl! She killed Jean!" Even the bad guys hated her for it. Scrambler knew how vital Jean Gray had been to his employer. "Get her, Sabretooth!"

She was in a darker, danker, and less sterile a place than the medlab had been a year ago. She breathed shallow because of all the smoke and the clouds of dirt stirred up from the skirmish within the close confines of the Morlock tunnels. Wasn't easy, considering her position.

"You get her," Sabretooth said. He sniffed the air and growled. _There, in the distance._ "I'll get Wolverine."

She was crumpled on the damp, muddy, scum-slick floor of one of the tributary tunnels where she'd tackled and rolled with the big cat-man soon as she heard him growl his intent to leap after the wolf-man, the sole person who had stuck up for her back at the X-Men's medlab.

Scrambler attacked... and basically missed. Or so she thought. He only grazed her arm with his outstretched fingertips. Didn't even connect with her flesh, just a little pressure, a slide against her sleeve. She'd suffered more dangerous encounters in Time's Square at rush hour.

Or so she thought.

When she dove for the big cat-man, she was planning to infect him or absorb him, whichever happened to take effect first, but his claws rendered her insides bare to the outsides before they'd stopped rolling. Turned out, moments before, Scrambler had messed up her powers, neutralized them. She hadn't known that it was the reason for the uproar in her head, which she'd mistook for mind-Jean's meddling again. The realization of how wrong she was struck her about the same time that cat-man's claws slashed at her head. Now, everything was dimming around her. The big cat-man gave her a kick before going for his original target, the nearest she had to an ally among the X-Men: Wolverine.

She clung to the unraveling concept that she'd fought so hard, so hard. She had no choice but to only hope it had been enough to finally redeem her for Jean's death. No matter how much she wanted to continue on, she really could do no more. Her legs were heavy and slack. Her arms were tangled in her spilled guts. Her head was seeping and cold. Her hope hiccupped when she heard the X-Men finally arrive.

"Goddess!" Storm gasped at the sight of the slaughtering.

"Jubilee and Kitty, get the Morlocks to safety," Scott commanded. "Everyone else, spread out. Stop them."

Kitty only saw the dying young woman in her peripheral, but it was enough to startle her. "Oh my God! Is that Rogue?"

"Where?" Scott asked Kitty. "We have to stop her. She killed Jean. She has to be a Marauder."

"Why didn't Gambit mention her," Kitty asked, confused. On their way in they had run into a man fleeing with a child in his arms. He had explained everything to them, who he was—Gambit—even described the attackers by their names. Begged for their help, which he hadn't realized was the precise reason they on their way into the tunnels, causing their meeting. After much arguing, they decided to trust that the fleeing man would help them more than hinder them.

"He's probably one of them too," Scott said irrationally.

"Then why was he saving that girl with the bones sticking out everywhere?"

"Never mind. You're too young to understand," he said condescendingly. "I'll get her." He ran into the tributary tunnel.

_If Scott's more focused on meh than the Marauders… _Rogue's fear for the Morlocks throttled higher, speeding the push of her blood from heart to guts to limbs to head, making her bleed all the more, and making darkness spot her vision.

_Or was that just Évariste's shadow?_ He was a teenager she'd hesitantly befriended over the past few months while she'd been living in the tunnels, on the outskirts of the Morlocks' haphazard society.

"I'll take care of her," Évariste told Scott as he limped towards Rogue. "We need you out there."

"Can you handle her?" Scott asked as he eyed Évariste dubiously. He looked wasted, all skinny limbs and too long torso, scraped and bruised, frail, distraught. "She's dangerous."

"She's not going anywhere," Évariste said in stubborn certainty that was ruined by the cracking of his voice. By way of explanation, he added, "My power. It's passive, not much good for fighting, but I can at least do this much."

Still Scott hesitated. She was right there. He couldn't just let her slip away again. What if the kid killed her for his own revenge while he was gone. Worse, what if she tricked him and he let her go. His mind raced, the thoughts flying in succession across his face, but all coming down to which to choose. And then, duty called. Kitty screamed in the background. Fuchsia flashed around the bend. Explosions. Rock fall. Scott nodded, curt and resigned, before taking off to join the rest of the X-Men in the fight.

As the darkness ate Rogue, she heard Évariste's choked-up promise, "Je fixerai…" _I will fix… _

Redemption out of her hands, grasped delicately in his first touch, she lost her singular life.

* * *

Rogue, the now revealed Messenger, pulled herself from the memories, but not from the familiar maelstrom of emotions they stirred up in the process. Experience had convinced her she could never do enough to be redeemed in Scott's eyes. And, she too easily saw through his view. Thanks to Jean and the gone-wrong rescue.

"She got off easier than I did," Rogue quipped with a laugh. Some of the group noticed the edginess to it, the mockery of it, the utter lack of humor. She intended it to be a shield for what she was to do next.

Rogue unbuttoned the cloak and let it fall to the floor. _Forgive me. Accept me. _A child's plea under the guise of a tactical maneuver; she laid herself all out in one glorious and grotesque display. _Trust me. Want me._

Magneto inhaled sharply; a sigh in retreat. It was as he feared, yet, it was a relief to finally see it for himself.

"Goddess." Storm's quiet outburst was ironically the loudest.

"Dieu…" Gambit's was also audible, though it was more visceral, less of a hiss.

Similar reactions rang out from a few of the others at what Rogue had revealed. Scott and Cable actually stopped shouting. Logan chewed his cheek as if he'd wished for a familiar cheroot, as if without it he might have flinched. Xavier swallowed like he'd tasted bitter medicine, a sour syrup to restore a healthy humble.

Even without the cloak, she was still covered up pretty well. Almost all by suede, too. She had enough of that softest of leathers remaining on her that selling it could possibly feed a small family for a month or more. It didn't make her look like a pampered rich girl, though. It was obviously worn in and the earthy colors gave it a swanky Robin Hood appeal. Copper-brown boots clutched her calves matched the gloves on the hands she clenched and unclenched. The fitted pants were a few shades darker. The mustard colored straps of a tank top showed out from under the wide-necked, three-quarter sleeved dress-shirt. The cut of that loose-fitting blouse followed the curves of her breast and waist and then flared at her hips in mimicry of a scandalously short dress. Unlike the rest of her clothing, the bodice and mock skirt of the shirt was multi-colored and patterned. Complimentary sunset yellows alternated in stripes with mossy greens and rusty browns. They wrapped her like draped belts until they reached the centerline of her, where they pinched upward like a curvaceous arrow pointing to her heart. The darkest of the moss greens, cupped her breasts and swathed her shoulders and arms until just below her elbows. A rough-hewn ruddy brown leather satchel was slung over her shoulder. Its strap cut across her chest, further emphasizing her cleavage and the strangely sumptuous curvature of the stripes of her shirt. Her clothing made her seem like a rebellious princess adventurer, but that wasn't what made them react so strongly.

The culprit was the parts of her that weren't covered by all the soft and supple suede.

Lanx.

One of the worst cases they'd seen since the war ended. It wasn't just in patches. It wasn't just scar tissue either. It was still active. It was growing, stretching like a yawning kitten savoring every last lick of her creamy white skin. It had gnawed up most of her forearms. It was crawling up and down her pale, pale skin, disappearing beneath her gloves and her sleeves. It peeked out from the under top of the wide collar and was currently nibbling up her neck like a wickedly teasing lover.

Magneto stood very still as she lifted the mock skirt to show off her torso. Lanx melted across her belly at an angle as though someone had stretched her out on her side and poured it onto her.

Gambit, momentarily parched, licked his lips in a wrenching combination of sympathy, disgust, curiosity, and desire. He had a terribly guilty-achy urge to trace the edges of the Lanx—from where it dipped into her pants, arched up and over her navel, rolled down and over and under her ribs, to where it rushed and hid beneath the bunched suede carefully held aloft by her gloved hands. He idly wondered if that were the reason for her gloves: to prevent harm to others.

Catching Gambit's eye, she scoffed—deprecating and sarcastic—before letting the shirt fall back into place.

"Does it itch?" Magneto asked with all the careful intensity as inquiring about a mosquito bite. The accompanying lift of his hand clearly indicated where his attention had been: her face, and the small shimmering patch of Lanx like a hot smack across her cheek. He stubbornly wanted to stroke it, to comfort her, to caress the ills away.

Rogue seemed as though she would ignore him completely, but then she answered abruptly—"Yes." Her eyes remained locked on Gambit in a failing attempt to avoid temptation. "How bad do ya wanna scratch?"

"Maybe it's worth it?" Remy replied mirthlessly as he watched her fingers flutter self-consciously at the hem of the shirt-skirt. Her gloved fingers. He shrugged. "An' maybe it's not."

Tantalized and tormented by Gambit's teasing audacity, Rogue dislodged her gaze from her poorly chosen harbor from Magnus. In search for a different, and hopefully safer, viewpoint, Rogue looked to Cable. A sort of respect for similar circumstances momentarily passed between them. Sure they didn't suffer from exactly the same virus, but there were enough similarities that they could share each other's difficulties in coping with such things. Still...

"It doesn't make up for what you did to her," Cable said, ending the stoic acknowledgment they had shared.

"I never said it did," Rogue answered. There was no humility, no sense of guilt or shame to her statement. To the others, she efficiently explained, "Like Cable here, my powers keep it in check to some degree."

"Will someone please explain the point of the strip-show?" Psylocke asked.

Rogue answered, but directed it to Detective Bishop instead. "The murders have nothing to do with the legend." She flicked her eyes to Magneto, but avoided prolonged eye contact. She was equally paranoid and ardent of his ultimate feelings about her revelation, but she shoved it down, shook it off, and focused on business. Continuing to Bishop, she added, "I aim to help prove it and, as you can see, that will benefit the Underground."

"You're the Unrecht?" Gambit asked skeptically.

"I am a lot of things, Cajun," Rogue said. She looked pointedly at Xavier and Scott and said, "For awhile, I was invisible. Then I was a murderer. Then I got converted into that ridiculous superstition." She smiled, wry and sardonic. "Been a hero sculpted right out of marble. Plaque and Fame and Glory and everything, all accepted in my honor by the very people that labeled me a murderer. Wasn't that generous of them? I sure thought so. I never one for splittin' hairs over credit and all. Plus, it made it easier to go Underground, where I got to be something else… just myself."

"You're just a— "

_Killer._

"—messenger," Scott said with great effort, throwing her off balance, "at best." Tipped the scales back a bit. "So, why would the Underground make itself vulnerable just to protect you? You could just be setting us up. How do we know you're not going to mislead us or tamper with the evidence?"

"Look, One-Eye," Rogue said. The comment observed his obstinate perspective of her more than it did the look his visor gave him. "I didn't have to tell you who I was, but I thought the cost of it would give you a reason to…" _Trust Me, Forgive Me_ "…Never mind. I should've known better."

She picked up her hooded-cloak and put it on. "Magneto, take Gambit and retrieve Cypher and Locke for me." She kicked the files back through the door. "X-Men, your request is now denied. Solve your murders by yourselves. Don't come looking for help from us ever again."

She sidestepped a hasty escape.

Bishop lunged after her, too late. There was no sign of her in the hallway. At a loss for options, and angered by it, he lashed out at Scott. "What's wrong with you?"

"She killed Jean!" Scott yelled in defense. "She probably killed Paige and Sam and the others too!"

"And you just chased her away," Logan pointed out.

"Do you really think we'll find any trace of her again once she leaves here?" Bishop asked. "If she is the killer and they knew it, they'd protect her more fiercely from us and seek their own justice inside. Have you ever heard of them giving up one of their own?"

"Masque," Scott eagerly supplied.

"Wrong, Bub," Logan said. "The shit we got him for came later, years after they banished him. Had nothing to do with them. If we hadn't gotten him, though, they probably would have. And I can bet ya it wouldn't have ended with handcuffs, a public trial, or a prison. All the heat in the media with these murders now, ain't no way they'd let her see sun or sky if they weren't a hundred percent sure—"

Scott's face blanched. "It's already working. She's manipulated you into believing she's innocent." Angry and pleading, he reminded them, "She's a _murderer_."

"It's not about her innocence," Xavier placated. "It's about her accessibility. I've always sympathized with you about her, but I have to agree with Bishop and Logan. They do have valid points."

* * *

"Remy," Storm called, just as he and Magneto reached the elevator to go up and get Cypher and Warlock as the Messenger had instructed.

Gambit stopped, but Magneto, ignoring her, continued on and pressed the button.

"Talk to her," Storm requested of Remy in her serene and steady voice. "She seems to have a fondness for you. Maybe you can use that to persuade her."

That got Magneto's attention. "You want to _use_ her?" He pushed past Remy and roughly grabbed Storm's arm. "Do you think I will allow that?"

It was Gambit's first real glimpse of the _villainous_ ego he'd often heard about when the X-Men told stories of their years before the war. He wished he could have charged a card and waved it menacingly at the Magneto. But with the nullifier still active, he had to settle on a threatening glare. "I _t'ink_ you'll be letting Stormy go."

Magneto glared back at Remy, warning, "That's all you better be thinking." And then released Storm with a shove. "If she is growing fond of you… You, who was accessory to—"

Gambit was sure he was going to say something typical, something all holier-than-though with his big vocabulary, like _'the attempted decimation of a colony of desperate mutants.'_ But, he was wrong.

"—the very cause of her trappings… it would be a very fitting punishment."

"What are you talking about, homme? First I met de femme was 'cause you set it up."

"I never chose you. She did." It sounded almost petulant, like don't-blame-me. "Which is exactly my point. I would have been sufficient mediator. So why you specifically?"

"Don't know," Remy said with a shrug. "You sure gave us a long list of her excuses to convince us." Remy flashed a cocky grin. "Or yourself. Maybe she just bored of you. Or maybe she just looking for someone who can keep up with her."

Magneto worked his jaw but didn't take the bait.

"Can it be de great Lord Magneto simply be jealous," Remy continued. "Got a lot of tactics to warn me off of her. She's not worth it. She's untouchable. She'll hurt me. You'll hurt me. It's all got me t'inking. You're independent, successful. You got contacts, followers. But, dey not friends, or family, or lovers. You're lonely. You're old. You're tired. You're scared." He licked his lips, circling around to end at the start. "Is she _your_ punishment for all de wrongs _you_ did along de way?"

"Stop it," Storm said to Remy. "You're not helping."

"De truth hurt sometimes," Remy said. After the Morlocks, he was all too familiar with the concept. "Better to own up to it, face it, else you fester wit' de rotting of it." He flicked those burning embers that were his eyes to Ororo. "You taught me dat."

She placed a gentle hand on Remy's arm. "A lesson you learned the hard way. But, that doesn't justify cruelty."

"Now you pity me?" Magneto asked, offended.

"I know we have given you little reason to further help us with Rogue," Storm said, choosing a more productive route. "But please try to forgive Scott _and_ Remy's impetuousness, and do what's right."

Magneto's eyes flashed like quicksilver. "Was it _right_ for you all to chase her away with accusations... _again_? She was barely a teenager the first time you did it. She was still one the second time. Do you think it stings less now that she's a young woman?"

"I never agreed with what they did, Magnus," Storm said, steadfast and noble. She knew it would do no good to be roused to anger. "Over time, many have changed their opinion. Simply tell her that much. It is the truth and it may help her to agree. Logan is an official consultant—"

Gambit snickered.

"—on the case and he has adamantly opposed the X-Men's behavior towards her since the beginning." With a look to Gambit, she pled him to corroborate her. "Isn't that right, Remy?"

"Oui," Gambit admitted with another of his too meaningful shrugs, "Not dat it matter much to de ol' _Master of Magnetism_, eh?" He leaned against the wall and pulled out his cards, shuffling them in mock nonchalance. "What matters to him is why he should take de risk. What's in it for him?"

"I suppose you have the answer," Magneto stated plainly, thus all the more guardedly for it.

"Oui," Gambit said as he continued shuffling his cards. "Seems to me she wants to help." The Queen of Spades fell from the deck. "She also needs an excuse." The King of Spades fell. "You could give it to her." The Ace of Spades joined them. "Or I could." The Queen of Hearts tumbled down. "Whole lot of benefits to get out of dat." And landed on the Ace of Spades.

Gambit smirked.

Magnus scowled.

The elevator doors opened.

* * *

Scott clenched his jaw. He was unable to give in quite so fast. "They have valid points?" He asked Xavier. "What about you? Why didn't you tell me she was alive? That she was the Unrecht? That she was with the Underground?"

"I didn't think any good could come of it," Xavier confessed. "I may have my own conflicting feelings on the matter, but yours have never wavered, never compromised. I was certain you could not be impartial over the matter. Your behavior now only confirms it."

"You don't trust me," Scott realized.

"To the contrary," Xavier admitted, "I didn't trust myself to help you. I had allowed my emotions to override the very notions of right and wrong on which I founded the X-Men. Jean was dead. This girl was connected. I could not penetrate her mind to find out the truth. My ego was bruised, my suspicions were high, and I convinced myself that the impartial action was to let her leave. It was not until later that I understood that I had, in actuality, _made_ her leave. I had punished her by abandoning her. And worse, I hurt you in doing so. You believed I abandoned you when I let her go. But the truth is, if I had kept her here and took the time to truly settle the matter justly, then you may have been able to come to terms with Jean's death. The cycle would have been broken before it even really started." He let that sink in before he confessed, "I should have told you." He looked around the room. "All of you. Secrets only serve to perpetuate distrust, and that will only serve to fracture us."

"But you stood there, at that statue, and thanked the President for appreciating what she did."

"It was time for me to let go, to forgive" Xavier said. "And to ask for forgiveness."

"So ask her." Logan bristled. "She's still here. The nullifier is still on."

"She's already given it."

"Then you go give it to her."

"She doesn't want it from me."

"If you believe that," Logan said, "Then you're as bad as him." He jabbed a finger at Scott. "Heads up your asses, every one of you." He looked at Cable and Psylocke sitting on the couch with their arms crossed. They'd been quiet through most of it. "Yeah, even you two. You're all so full of yourselves that you'll let the real murderer go on killing just so you can hold onto your blasted righteousness." He grimaced and stalked off.

"Can't believe I expected better of ya," he mumbled just loud enough for them to hear as he left. He wanted to pop his claws and slash the length of the hallway since he couldn't slash away the image of Paige crying over Sam that kept popping into his thoughts. He needed to be haunted by another heart-broken girl like he needed another hole in his memories.

* * *

Rogue slouched against the wall. She was just around the corner at the opposite end of the hall as the elevator. She had almost left. She would've been gone if her chest hadn't constricted painfully on her, made her wheeze, made her pause to catch her breath. It was the Lanx, because the fix hadn't been satisfied and she had no powers to contain it as backup.

Or so she told herself.

Head resting against the wall, she felt like a kid playing telephone. All she was missing was a can and a string leading to the other side. She heard everything they had all said. Wasn't hard. They were loud enough and the rest of the mansion was quiet enough. It was an awfully quiet and lonely time of night.

Her chest rattled with her breathing. She didn't think she should wait for Cypher and Locke anymore. She should leave before the wolf-man rounded the corner and found her. If he were to look smug for it, she didn't want to see it.

Still she waited. She hoped. It felt like her last chance.

It always felt like her last chance… with them.

* * *

Psylocke hadn't been around when Jean died. She and Warren had been helping Moira defend Muir Island. When they returned they were too caught up in the maddening rush of their newfound love for each other to be properly lured into the we-hate-Rogue bandwagon. It was only a few months later that Rogue, or so they had believed, and Warren died in the near-massacre of the Morlocks.

Cable, on the other hand, took the we-hate-Rogue trip right from its start. However, from time to time, over the years, he had wondered if it could have been the accident that Logan claimed it had been.

"She would make a powerful enemy," Cable offered dispassionately after Logan stalked away.

"Or an incredible ally," Psylocke countered, equally non-committal.

"Yet, she's stayed hidden, neutral." Cable.

"Even humored our requests through Magneto." Psylocke.

"She's got more to lose by showing us her identity than we do by giving her a chance."

"She has an impressive guilt to wield over us."

"And if she's justified in it?"

"She's never used it on us."

"Could argue she's doing it now."

"I can't decide," Psylocke admitted.

"Neither can I," Cable agreed.

"I can," Scott said.

Bishop grunted in exasperation. "You're wasting my time. I don't care about all your personal issues. I care about catching the killer."

"So," Scott told Bishop, "Try and get her back."

* * *

Rogue stopped breathing.

"Gonna inhale or do I have to give ya mouth-ta-mouth?"

"Shuddup," she told Logan.

"How about a hand up, then?"

She pushed to her feet and wobbled. She grimaced.

"I make a good crutch."

"Jerk."

"Crab."

She took a step and stumbled. He caught her.

"Home, James," she mumbled flippantly.

He cringed.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Take me back. I deserve it."

"Whatever, kid."

* * *

A deep breath, then, Scott added, "Even if we have to stay out of it."

Bishop got over his surprise quickly. He nodded and headed for the door.

"Back it up, Bish," Rogue said, her voice cutting sharply through the room.

The others looked and saw she was again in the doorway. She leaned heavily on the door frame. Wolverine stood beside her, against the other side of the door, ready to catch her. She had a gun aimed at Bishop, who had his hand on his own gun, ready to pull it out on her.

"If you pull it out, Bish, I'm shooting," Rogue said. "If you back up from me, I'll put mine away. Trust me, it's for your own safety."

Bishop measured her for a moment then, deciding to take her at her word, backed up and took his hand from his weapon. After he did, Rogue glanced around the room, checking for other drawing of weapons or signs of plans for physical attack. She quirked a brow at how Psylocke seemed unruffled by any of it. Psylocke just stood to the side, bored and sleepy.

"Join them," Rogue told Logan.

He gave her a look, curiosity and a sort of kinship sadness.

"Go on," she said. She motioned him in with a tilt of her head.

He heard the elevator's return so he went. He was confident Cypher, Locke, and Magneto would have her back. Maybe even the Cajun, depending on the swing of his mood.

She heard the others coming down the hall towards her. Storm was with them. Gracelessly, she swept up the cloak and holstered it on her thigh.

"Ya'll really have some nerve, you know that?" Rogue said. The incredulity in her voice was more than obvious. So was the strain. The hood and cloak were back in place, so nobody could see visual signs of the reasons for the strain. For all they knew it was because of her emotions from the situation or perhaps just the physical toll of the Lanx. Whatever it was, her breathing was audibly labored and her voice was scratchy.

"Ya'll live it up here in rich-ville," Rogue continued, "Comfy in your high moral ground and your saved-the-world pride and your helping-the-persecuted self-proclaimed sainthood. Well, you sure are picky about who deserves that help, aren't you? You only help those who fit your mold, don't you? Unless, of course, you can use them for some reason right then and there, like ya did with the wolf-man and the thief. Yeah, I know about that. I also know you still squabble about whether or not they're good enough to stay."

Rogue took a deep and ragged breath, and then added, "Why in hell would I give you another chance? You never even gave me a first chance."

Xavier wheeled his chair into a position where he could directly see her. "Rogue—"

"I'm not givin' you another warning, baldy," Rogue said. Her voice wasn't scratchy now, but metallic, like she was talking through a static-filled speaker. Lanx had surely seized her vocal chords. "Keep your distance."

Xavier moved towards her no more, but continued to speak. "Rogue, I admit I made a mistake. We are only people. We make mistakes."

A scratchy half-laugh, then, "I don't need telepathy to know that even now one-eye still blames me, still hates me, doesn't want anything to do with me—" static-cough "—and wouldn't give a shit about any explanation I had to offer."

"He is one person, Rogue," Xavier said. "Even I have my lingering doubts, but many of us would hear you out."

"You don't—" static-breath "—get it!"

"Let us help you, Rogue," Storm said from behind her, cutting off whatever Xavier had intended to say next. "You are not well. You need medical attention. We can all hear that you are suffering. Whatever our differences in the past, we would be more than willing to have our doctor's look at you."

"Don't... just don't," Rogue breathed out as she closed her eyes and leaned her more of her weight on the door frame. "I can't... it isn't safe."

"You don't think we mean to trick you? To harm you? " Storm misunderstood Rogue's reaction. "Do you think we are that heartless?"

"I wasn't talking to you," Rogue rasped. Weary and aching, she minced the leader with the man. "I was talking to Lord Magnus."

He had come up behind her, was about to take her in his arms.

Rogue ducked her head against her forearm, "But, yes, Storm, I do."

Xavier took advantage of her weakened position and wheeled forward even more.

Magus narrowed his eyes on Xavier and stepped into the doorway, aside Rogue. His intention was clear. His steely glare and ramrod stiff posture effectively explained his protection of Rogue.

"Let us help her, Erik," Xavier said, appealing to the man not the leader. "We have excellent doctors."

"The Underground has better," Erik said. "They have two of the only three known mutant healers in existence."

"But she is only—"

"A messenger, yes," Rogue said. As quiet as her words were there was a metallic growl to it. "You've insulted me for the last time, X-Men."

She pushed off the frame. They knew she was wobbly by the shivering hem of her cloak. Still, she stood on her own.

"Locke," she whispered, static-filled, "I'm ready to go."

Locke, one of the few to not be in any danger of contracting her strain of Lanx, swooped her up and encased her safely in a cradle-sling formation of his arms. Erik didn't look back to watch her leave. He knew though, when Gambit slipped in through the small space between Erik and the door.

Without looking at Gambit, Erik asked, "She is gone?"

"Oui," Gambit said as he crossed the room. He dropped into one of the more plush chairs and shuffled his trademark cards that seemed to magically appear in his hands.

Storm entered after Gambit. Magnus stayed in the doorway.

"I don't understand," Scott said. There was honest confusion in his voice. "Why was that an insult? You only offered her medical treatment, which she obviously needed."

"You really don't understand, do you?" Gambit asked. "You all t'ink de Underground is dis seedy head of de underworld. Sure, dey have dealings dere, dey never denied dat. But de Underground was formed for one reason, mes amis. So dat all de lowly people, even de sewer dwellers, would be welcomed and given a place where dey feel like dey belong. Dey evolved from de Morlocks, vraiment?"

"Yeah," Scott said, making it more a question than an answer.

"You insulted her family," Gambit continued, "Her culture. You basically said dat dey had a class structure within 'em, just like de society dey isolate demselves from. On top of dat, you insulted her personally. You suggested dat her position wasn't high enough to grant her deir best medical attention."

"I... I didn't mean it like that," Xavier said.

"Mais, y' did."

"That's ridiculous," Scott exclaimed. "He was offering her help."

Gambit shook his head in disbelief. "No wonder she don't trust a one of us. You really don't even try to see her side of t'ings, do you?"

"Of course I do, but she's being ridiculous."

"No, she's not," Psylocke piped in. "Think about it, Scott. Really think about it. Why is the virus so active in her still? When did she contract it?"

Realization dawned on Scott, and quietly, he answered, "When we first found her. She was first infected then."

"You offered her help then, right?" Cable, catching on, asked. "Offered it, then persecuted her when you figured out her powers, when you connected it to Jean's death."

Psylocke scoffed, saying, "No wonder she didn't take us up on our so generous offer."

Xavier sighed, looked to Magneto, and asked, "Will she really be okay?"

"She will be as she always has been," Erik said stoically. "The situation, as she puts it, is fixed."

* * *

Évariste was holding the door open when Cypher and Locke arrived with Rogue. Though, he was leaning on it still even after Locke had lain Rogue on the bed. Cypher noticed Évariste's own condition then and helped him to the bed as well.

The fix between them worked both ways. When they were separated, they both felt the withdrawal. When one was taxed, the other felt it, as the other's energy was drawn from to sustain the one that was taxed. Évariste, though he didn't have the added burden of the Lanx that Rogue had, was barely standing as a result of Rogue's condition. They had to be in contact to soothe and fix themselves.

Cypher realized Évariste was drenched with sweat when he wrapped an arm around Évariste's back to help support him as they moved to the bed.

"Elle devrait avoir duré plus longtemps," _She should've lasted longer_, Évariste whispered as they crossed the room. It was slow going. Évariste wouldn't be carried. Rogue wouldn't normally have permitted it either. But she had passed out only moments after Locke had cradled her, so she didn't get a chance to complain much about it.

"I know," Cypher said. "I missed most of it, was up with Kitty and the computer stuff. Could you tell what happened... through the link?"

"J'ai obtenu un sensation, rien davantage," _I got a sense, nothing more_, Évariste said. "Ils l'ont blessée pour la dernière fois. Je ne l'observerai pas souffrir en raison d'eux encore." _They have hurt her for the last time. I won't watch her suffer because of them again._

Cypher stayed silent. They'd reached the bed and were trying to get Évariste situated. Cypher used that as the excuse for his silence, for holding his tongue.

Évariste sighed, relieved, almost intoxicated, when his hand touched her bared Lanx-entombed forearm. Cypher was turning to leave when Évariste spoke, ever so more softly, breathy.

"Vous ne convenez pas?" _You don't agree?_

"It is not my choice, what she does," Cypher admitted honestly. "It's wrong that they keep doing this to her, that she let's them do this to her. But, at the same time, I don't want to abandon them on this. I want to help them catch Sam's killer."

Évariste nodded, understanding, as he shuffled closer to Rogue on the bed, curling himself around her, and dragging the cloak off to expose more of her skin to better satiate their fix.

Cypher blushed for seeing this minute amount intimacy, so he shooed Locke out of the room with him.

Rogue's eyes fluttered at the sound of the door closing from Locke and Cypher's exit. Évariste shushed her, persuading her to sleep with his lilting murmurs and delicate butterfly kisses on her cheeks, forehead, and eyelids.

"Heed my advice, this time," Évariste said in her own language, "Never again."

Most of New York was waking right then, but Évariste and Rogue, they were healing.

* * *

_See you next chapter!_


	6. Chapter 6 Cowboys

**Disclaimer: **Yes, Gambit's still better. Hell's Bells, Pulse probably is too, and he wasn't half as good as Remy. But then, who is? Le sigh. The X-Men still belong to Marvel.

**Chapter Six**

_Did you sweep us far from your feet  
Reset in stone this stark belief  
Salted eyes and a sordid dye  
Too many years_

_But don't despair  
This day will be their damnedest day  
Ooh, if you take these things from me_

_Did you feed us tales of deceit  
Conceal the tongues who need to speak  
Subtle lies and a soiled coin  
The truth is sold, the deal is done_

_But don't despair  
This day will be their damnedest day  
Ooh, if you could take these things from me_

_Undefined, no signs of regret  
Your swollen prides assumes respect  
Talons fly as a last disguise  
But no return, the time has come_

_So don't despair  
This day will be their damnedest day  
Ooh, if you take these things from me_

_("Cowboys," Portishead)_

**-**

"What the fuck did you do?"

"Could you close the door first so not everyone will hear you, Mystique?"

She slammed it. "Better?"

"Much." Lord Magneto set aside the budget papers he'd been sourly failing to make progress on anyways, and sat back in his chair, hands folded in his lap, left over right. "You were saying?"

"The Messenger hasn't shown for any of my meetings in two weeks."

"And that would be my problem because…?"

"You never did know when enough was enough." She stalked to his desk. Leaning over it, she accused, "Did your slow seduction finally cross the line?"

"If that's the best you got, you need better sources."

"Oh, what was I thinking?" She asked dramatically. "This is a young, alluring woman I'm talking about, not an uprising for war. The enigmatic Lord Magneto would never sully himself with something as trite as plying the trades of the heart!" She flounced, more tiredly than gracefully, into one of the meeting chairs. "Give me a break, Erik. We're all feeling the effects of time and circumstance. Settling into a comfortable life of routine is even starting to appeal to me."

"If this is your idea of a proposition," he said, amusement glinting his usually steely blue eyes, "it needs practice."

"You don't do coy very well," she said. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

"I assure you—"

She raised a hand to stop him. "Let's end this charade, okay? Rogue is like a daughter to me. Our meetings have been personal more than business for years now. The only reasons she'd skip one, let alone two weeks worth, without so much as a single word to me, would be because she was dead or held captive."

She leaned back in the chair, crossed her legs, and mimicked the posture of his folded hands, left over right. "So, why don't you tell me everything you know?"

* * *

"Damnit," Detective Bishop swore as he hung up the phone.

Logan puffed on his cheroot despite the no-smoking sign that was clearly posted. "Guess the answer's no."

"I don't get it," Bishop said. "Cypher's still working with Kitty to crack Paige's missing files, right?"

"Yup," Logan said. "He and Locke showed up last week and have hardly left since. Why?"

"Val Cooper wouldn't even get on the phone. Her secretary told me that she's pissed off. The Underground's gone silent. They ceased contact with Major Danvers over two weeks ago. She thought it was a fluke at first, but they have reason to believe that none of the messengers have kept their meetings. She's looking into it. Hard. The kind that involves the CIA and Homeland Security."

"Huh," Logan said in understatement. "That sucks."

"Yeah," Bishop grunted. "These local murders just got bumped up the ladder. Bypassed federal, and went straight to international."

"'Cause, ya know," Logan said with a sarcastic snort, "That'll lure 'em back out into the open."

Bishop sighed. "This job is hard enough without all the politics."

"Well, look at the bright side," Logan said grimly. He was everything but chipper. "At least there haven't been any new victims."

"And no new leads. Damn Scott, X, and their inability to keep their mouths shut. She was right there!"

Logan sighed and stood. "I'll round up the Cajun and head on over to ol' bucket head."

"And if that doesn't work?"

Logan tapped his nose. "I'll follow Cypher."

"Good luck," Bishop said with an uncharacteristic pat to Logan's back.

Logan lifted a brow, "Ya mind?"

"Sorry," Bishop said and leaned back against his desk. He tried not to stare at the bug he'd just left on Logan for Val. "This case must be getting to me."

* * *

Marlee peeked out of one eye and asked, "Now, is it time?"

Évariste laughed despite himself. "Oui, oui, you can get up." He flipped on the light switch. "C'mon everyone. Put your mats in your cubbies and line up at the door for recess."

Rogue smiled despite herself. She knew he wanted kids, that it was why he covered the youngest class of Le Souterrain's school at least one day a month. Imperfect as their situation was, Rogue admitted to herself that she wanted kids too. She blamed it on all the down time since the war ended. But, with her powers and the Lanx… No healer had reassurance enough for her to let her guard down for it to happen.

"Hi, Miss Rogue," Marlee, first to line up, said when she saw Rogue at the door. "I like your hair."

Rogue's hand went straight for her hood. She hadn't even realized it was down. She was pulling it back into place, when…

"No, leave it," Marlee said. "It's pretty."

Rogue blushed, not used to such candid compliments, and then scowled to hide it. "Thank you, Marlee. Yours is pretty too." She checked that her gloves were on before she patted the six-year-old girl's head.

"Which do you think," Évariste asked as he approached, "the playground or the lake?" He greeted her with a kiss.

"Oooooooooooh," chorused the kids.

"Give her some tongue!" Shouted Marlee's rambunctious twin brother.

"Maxim!" Rogue chastised. "You watch your mouth."

Évariste continued the rebuke, saying, "At least until you're twelve."

Pleasantly scandalized, Rogue swatted Évariste. He'd been extra fun and flirty these last two weeks they'd kept to themselves. She hated the idea when he'd first suggested it, but now… She liked it. A lot. _Maybe life with him can be better than just enough._

He curled an arm around her back. _This is just the beginning. _ His fingers stroked across her belly.

She pulled away. "The lake. Find a patch of shade and I'll meet ya there with some lunch."

She parted with a stout whack to his bottom. The kids laughed at his startled reaction. He laughed with them.

* * *

"Gumbo, I know ya can hear me," Logan said over the com-badge. "Respond."

Gambit twisted two wires together. A soft click and a hiss sounded as the safe opened. He tapped the com-badge. "Go away. I'm busy."

He checked the timer. Two-minutes and nine seconds.

"Remy, y' slipping," he chastised himself as he reset it.

Static, then Logan spoke again. "Stop playing with your dick, and answer me right."

"Ha. Ha," Remy deadpanned. "I'm practicing. Can't it wait?"

"Rogue's off radar. Took the whole Underground with her. Talk of global repercussions. What do ya think?"

"Merde," he swore. "Give me two minutes."

"You've got ten. I'll pick ya up."

"Wit' bells on."

"The pink chest plate too quiet?"

"Fuck you, it's fuchsia," he defended. "It matches de charges."

Logan snorted a laugh. "Ten minutes," he reminded Remy.

"Only need two," he muttered, "If y' would shuddup. Gambit out."

Remy restarted the timer. One… Two… Three… Four…

* * *

Rogue put three half-pint containers into the basket. The first held chunks of chopped fruit: strawberries, pears, pineapple, and kiwi. The second held chilled cooked shrimp that had been seasoned with lemon and herbs. Grape tomatoes, baby carrots, and peeled rounds of cucumber filled the third. She tucked a few cloth napkins between the containers and the side of the basket and reached for the bottled waters and teas, when she paused. The half-empty bottle of shiraz, the desert wine she and Évariste has sipped during their private dinner the night before, caught her attention. She debated for a moment, then, feeling frisky, she snatched it up along with a couple of glasses and placed them, barely fitting, into the basket too.

Lyssa's knowing giggle brought Rogue's attention to her.

"Hush," Rogue ordered, trying to diffuse the rumor mill Lyssa had been known to churn, but her own uncontrollable smile took the heat from it.

"Oh, don't be like that," the girlish, yet matronly chef said. "The two of you have been behaving like a regular pair of newlyweds lately."

Lyssa's mutation suited her profession well. She could speed up the natural processes of foodstuffs. At first, it only worked to fester yeasts, a handy trick she'd plied to her family's microbrewery before the war. After they were killed, she couldn't get work though. Not only was she a mutant, she was also permanently disfigured from a rotten case of Lanx, now cured, as well an early mishap with her powers that caused a nasty skin infection. Thanks to their healers, the scars had been reduced. She could easily gain profitable work outside the Underground if she wanted, but she didn't want to. Le Souterrain was her home. She loved the responsibility, the camaraderie, and the reign over their kitchen; things she repeatedly claimed would take too many years to earn on the outside. Despite the advancement of her control with her powers and her thorough experiences at plying them in the kitchen serving hundreds, she had no formal education and no professional reputation. She was too comfortable where she was to start a traditional career anew outside the Underground.

"It's a good thing," Lyssa said.

Rogue scoffed, deprecating, but it lacked its typical punch. Her growing happiness had stolen it.

"For everyone," Lyssa added. She carefully returned her attention to the shopping list she was working on when she spoke next. "Happy leaders make for happy followers."

Knowing it would only stir up trouble, Rogue bit back her initial reaction. Nonchalantly, as she got some plastic ware from the cabinet, she said, "For a small troop like ours, maybe. But, I don't think that all of the Underground would suddenly become chipper little bunnies if Fausse and Narcisse wandered around like lovesick puppies all the time. Personally, it'd creep me out."

Over the last five years the Underground had spread out into many installations around the country. The New York complex was only one of a dozen. Running it gave Rogue and Évariste a convenient disguise since their duties were similar to those of the fabled Fausse and Narcisse.

"Whatever you say, kiddo," the older woman said knowingly.

Rogue sighed, ready to say whatever she had to in order to quell this dangerous potential rumor, but Lyssa's choice of phrases reminded her of the reason that Évariste insisted on their recent downtime. She wondered…

"When was the last time you saw Cypher or Locke," Rogue abruptly asked Lyssa.

Believing it merely a tactical change of topics, Lyssa answered, "It's been days now. Nearly a week. They never even took the shrimp to Shiar for Cal." It was short for Cal'syee Neramani, Lady Deathbird. "Hence all the shrimp dishes these last several days. Couldn't let it all go to waste."

Rogue slowly turned to her. She'd been under the impression that Cypher and Locke were covering hers and Évariste's on top of their own. Darkly, she asked, "They've been skipping their meetings?"

"Naturally. Not even you could spend that much time helping the X-Men and still keep up your regular schedule." Suddenly realizing she'd let something loose she shouldn't have, she asked, "You didn't know?" Eager for the juicy gossip, she also asked, "They going behind your back?"

"No," Rogue said curtly. Using Jean's telekinesis, she lifted the heavy picnic basket. She lied, "Ah just forgot, is all."

Arms crossed, she headed for the holographics chamber to have a romantic lunch by the lake amidst a squadron of small children.

* * *

On the long driveway just outside the mansion's garage, Remy sat on his Harley in wait for Logan. Arms crossed, eyes closed, dark glasses on, and soft smile on his face, he seemed to be luxuriating in the feel of the afternoon sun on his face.

Remy started the engine upon the unmistakable sound of Logan's arrival. As Logan circled his own motorcycle to a stop, Remy tipped his sunglasses down in greeting.

"What's de plan?" Remy asked. "Sneak into de FBI an' download some files or we stakin' out some of de CIA spooks?"

"Neither," Logan said. "Paying Magneto a visit."

"Non," Remy said as got off his bike. "Your on your own wit' him."

"Get your ass back on your bike."

"Non," Remy said, crossing his arms. "It's a waste of time. He won't tell us nothin'."

"Exactly."

That got Remy's attention. He wandered closer. "How so?"

"I don't think he knows shit. And if she's keeping him out of the loop…"

"He's going to be off-kilter." Remy smirked. "Maybe even a li'l desperate, what wit' the mad-on he got for her. Loose his tongue a bit, hein?"

"What he _don't_ know might be as valuable to us than what he _does_ know."

"Oui," Remy said as he turned back to his bike. He climbed on and started it. He dipped his glasses down and winked, saying, "And as bonus, Remy get t' rattle de competition."

Logan rolled his eyes at him. Gambit laughed and eased towards the gates. A few feet later, he stopped. Logan hadn't moved. He was sniffing the air, scenting something behind them, heading towards the south wall.

"What is it," Gambit asked.

"Cypher and Locke, leaving," Logan said as he parked his bike and got off. "Change o' plans, Gumbo. You talk to Mags. I'm following them."

Remy sighed. He didn't want to go at all, really. Less so now that he wouldn't have an audience to amuse while tormenting the old bastard.

* * *

"How'd ya do it?" Rogue asked venomously.

She dropped the basket on the ground beside him making the glasses rattle.

"How'd ya keep a _secret_?" She spat the last like it was the evilest and, yet, most enviable thing in existence.

"Ne savez pas," _don't know_, Évariste said a little sadly. "Le souhait I a su. Je t'enseignerais comment garder vos pensées de elles à vous-même." _Wish I did. I'd teach you how to keep your thoughts of them to yourself_.

There was more than one reason he didn't want her involved in solving those murders anymore. The biggest, by far, was the hurt that the X-Men continually caused her. But, beneath that, simmering and aching, was the mild jealousy that she was attracted to _them_—Magnus and now Remy too—and that she'd wondered what she'd have done about it if she wasn't forever chained to _him_, to Évariste.

"Don't change the subject," she snapped.

"D'accord," _okay_, he said and offered her a hand. He switched to English, as if it would make it less intimate. "But sit with me. Standing there like that… I get the impression you're about to leave and never come back."

She lurched. "If I touch ya, you'll know what I'm thinking. It's not fair."

"Then read my thoughts," he said. "Or absorb them." He pushed the basket over to make room for her. "Either way, sit… stay."

She did and he cupped her face, pulled her in for a kiss. She halted him with a hand to his chest.

"If you learn that I'm lying, it'll be our last," he said. "If you learn that I'm not, you'll regret having shunned me."

He was right, she knew from experience, so she caved and let him have his kiss. She couldn't help but return it, a little. These last incredible weeks were too fresh and too perfect not to. Still, she absorbed him. Pseudo-immune to her as he was from the fix, she had to make a concerted effort to do it.

The answer came like a blade to the chest.

"Désolé!" _Sorry. _She nearly sobbed it against his neck where she buried her face in his hair. "Je suis si désolé!" _I am so sorry._

Saying it in his native French, it felt more intimate to her for some reason.

"D'accord." _Okay._ He held her close and stroked her hair and back. "C'est d'accord." _It's okay._

"But it's so unfair," she all but whined as she relaxed against him.

"Oui," he agreed. "Mais, I can't hate it. It gave me you."

"Yeah," she said, calming. It was the first time in a long time that it sounded like _'and I'm glad of that'_ to him.

"So, it is worth it," he said. The hard knot in his chest unraveled and he relaxed. "Every moment. Completely."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked. There was no accusation in it, no malice. Just curiosity.

"I supposed if the fix decided it was best you did not know," he said with a light chuckle, "then I shouldn't spoil all its hard work by telling."

She believed him. After all, she had already learned the answer when she absorbed him moments before. Still, it was nice to hear him say it. His flippant honesty was always refreshing like that.

"Think they're pissed we skipped all their meetings?" She asked with a devilish grin.

"Probably," he said, enjoying her playful mood about it. "But they'll forgive us. We're the fabled Fausse and Narcisse, aren't we? All those built up eccentricities will finally come in handy."

She laughed outright, mostly for the very American way he had phrased it, and sat up, pulling the basket towards them. "I'm famished."

He smiled, open and beaming. "Eating for two will do that."

She dropped the wine. "What?" She clasped a hand to her belly. "But… we've been so careful."

He shrugged, gallant, and wrapped his arms around her. "The fix, it works in mysterious ways."

She thought about it a moment, and then settled more comfortably in his arms. Sardonically, she spouted, "About time your powers did something to please you."

"It is the nature of such mutations, is it not?" He asked her. "They labor upon others more often than yourself. Nothing happens when you touch yourself, vraiment?" _Correct?_

She stretched languidly and snaked a hand sensually along her side on down to her inner thigh. "Wanna watch me try?"

He swallowed audibly.

She winked and sprung back to her sitting position.

He laughed, an infectious and loving burst of it, and pulled out the container of fruit. Feeding a piece of pineapple to her, he promised, "Je tu vais choyer tellement." _I am going to spoil you so much._ He followed the fruit to her lips with a kiss. "Tu et notre bébé." _You and our baby._

* * *

The intercom buzzed and Amelia Voght's voice, a little scratchy from Lanx scarring, said, "Gambit's on his way up. Seems he charmed your secretary into an impromptu appointment."

"Oh, let me guess," Mystique quipped sarcastically, "Another man who has no plans of wheedling Rogue out from under Évariste to settle down with her himself."

Sometime during their lengthy exchange they'd move to sit on the bench that lined the long bank of windows looking out over the courtyard.

"Actually," Magnus said wryly, "You're probably right." Through gritted teeth, he added, "More of a roll in the hay and be on his way, or so say my sources." Straightening, he needlessly told her, "He'll be harder to convince if you are here."

"But," she started as her flesh rippled, "it'll be easier if _I_ am here." The transformation complete, she was Rogue in a dove white hooded sweater and blue jeans tucked over leather boots. "Besides," she said as her gloveless fingers toyed with a wavy lock of his hair, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Angry, he grabbed her hand to shove her away.

"Don't you want me to touch you," Mystique-Rogue whispered slyly as Remy entered.

"Not like this," Magnus ground out, loud enough for Remy to hear.

"Well, isn't dis cozy," Remy drawled, slow as molasses. "An' convenient."

Lord Magneto drew away from Mystique-Rogue and standing, regained his regal bearing. "To what do I owe the displeasure of your interruption?"

"I would've said her," he said as he hiked a thumb in Mystique-Rogue's direction, "But now…"

"Now, you'll just leave," Magneto said.

"Could," Gambit said. He dipped his head and shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his trench coat in an aw-shucks impression. "But den who'd play chaperone 'til Val Cooper joined dis li'l tête-à-tête?"

Mystique-Rogue rose and advanced a few steps. "You didn't."

"Non," Gambit said, making to leave. "Too bad y' want Remy t' leave. Could've helped y' figure out who did."

Click. Mystique-Rogue had a gun aimed on him. "One step out that door an' Remy will be missing his pretty head."

"That is hardly necessary, Mys…Rogue," Magneto said. "He has no intentions of leaving. Do you, Gambit?"

Remy spun and grinned. "Surely not after—" an incredulous glance to Magnus "—_Miss Rogue_ called me pretty."

* * *

"Danvers, report," Val Cooper said into her com-unit. She sat on the top of one of the many desks in the surveillance room and watched the many screens that filled the west wall. One of them showed a map of New York City with a cluster of blinking red dots in and around Central Park.

"Wolverine just followed them in," Major Danvers explained. "Orders?"

"Got a visual of the entrance?" Val asked.

"Hold on, linking it," Danvers said and keyed a sequence into the miniature digital keyboard strapped around her forearm. "How's that?"

Video streaming from Danvers' headpiece sputtered into view on another of the screens in front of Val. All she could see was a large storm drain tunnel grown over by ivy and other weeds.

"The Alley," Val said with ironic surprise. "They seriously live in the Morlocks' old haunt?"

"Looks like," Danvers' said. "Either that or the Ramsey kid caught on and is leading him, and us, on a wild goose chase."

"Would be a poor time to give ourselves away if that's the case," Val said and ruminated on it. "Other exits?"

"Our maps are limited down here," Danvers said. "Got teams moving to cover two other drainage dumps. Do you know of any other egresses?"

Val's crew in the surveillance room was already doing the search. The clacking of their fingers over the keyboards and the hums of the servers behind her was the only evidence of it.

"Three, no," piped up an eager young agent, "four more." A few more keystrokes and four of the screens zoomed in on the locations. They were dotted green or yellow to mark their significance.

"Damn," Val said. "That'll spread us thin."

"Clock's ticking," Danvers reminded Val. She'd kept her eye on Logan's blip on the miniature display strapped to her forearm, but he was already at his sixth turn. She wouldn't be able to remember his route if they lingered much longer.

"Split the teams you sent out already," Val ordered. "Two each on the green locations, only one to each of the yellow ones." Her crew sent the coordinates without being told as she continued to Danvers, "Lead the rest in."

"Going radio silent and," Danvers entered the dark tunnel, "video night."

The video streams blipped to shades of green and black as Val watched their progress.

"See you on the other side. Danvers out."

* * *

They'd lingered in the setting of the lake far much longer than was typical of the young students' afternoon recess.

Rogue watched Marlee and several of her classmates playing with the ducks. She idly wondered if the addition of the hatchlings that trailed after one of the mama ducks were programmed in by Évariste as a result of her newly discovered condition.

Hearing her thoughts through the fix, Évariste smiled wistfully and drew lazy circles on her belly. _Oui. I want a whole gaggle of kids trailing behind us one day._

_Let's get through the first one, before we get started on more._

He rolled up onto one elbow, slid his hand to her hip, and tendrils of his wavy dusky blond hair tickled her cheeks before he pressed his lips to hers. _Then we'll just call this practice._

"You're incorrigible," she said with a laugh as she gently pushed him off her. He pulled her into his lap and laced his fingers through hers, resting them over her navel. "How far along, do you know?"

He closed his eyes and concentrated to sense her internal functions. "Deux mois." _Two months._

"That long?" Rogue said, a little taken aback. She'd had no clue. And she really didn't like that so much could have been going on in her body for so long without her knowledge. It scared her.

"Perhaps even a little more," he said even though he felt her trepidation. But, what was true was true. He could deal with her being afraid, it was only a natural reaction to something so large and overwhelmingly permanent, but he couldn't deal with keeping any more secrets from her. He was done with the fix choosing for him, for the moment anyways. Still, to help reassure her, he added. "We'll check with Jarvis, Erin and Ted tomorrow. Get you on the proper diet and routine to keep you and our bébé healthy."

"The Lanx," she breathed.

"Have faith," he said. He brushed her hair off her forehead and kissed the space he'd bared. "How's that for a name, if it's a girl." As if he didn't already know it was.

* * *

"Shit," Major Danvers cursed to herself. They'd been off their map of the tunnels for more than a hundred paces. "Hold up," she told her team. "I think they're above us." Typing furiously, she communicated with Val Cooper at the surveillance base: CONFIRM TARGET ELEVATION

33FT ASL, came Val's textual reply.

CONFIRM STREET LEVEL

Y AND RISING

"Shit," she cursed again. "The Alley, my ass. They're topside and climbing. Find me a way up, people."

"There," Rogers, a seasoned and overly ruthless member of her crew, whispered. "Daylight."

They jogged to it. Sure enough, there was a ladder and metal grating overhead. As she peered up through it she realized it wasn't daylight they'd seen at all, but fluorescent lighting. Above them was a basement, boiler room or something of that ilk. The bowels of a large building.

"Here we go," Danvers said as Rogers propped open the grating. "Remember, Fausse and Narcisse are priority. Second best, Évariste and Rogue. Other prisoners, last resort. Lethal force only where necessary. That's what the stun is for." She lifted her chin to Rogers. "That means you too."

As she watched the others climb, she texted Val once more. UPDATE UR DAMN MAPS. INSIDE. OUT.

She trusted that Val would move the egress teams to her mark as reinforcements.

* * *

"Faith?" She asked as she stretched to meet Évariste's wistful gaze.

He nodded as he continued stroking her hair, the side of her face.

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully. A grin sparkled her eyes. "I like Evareé more." _Ev-ar-ay._

"Marieé," he countered cheekily. _Mar-ee-ay._

She swatted him playfully. "It's Anna and you know it."

"It is?" He asked, mocking shock.

She froze. "No." And gasped, "Oh gawd, no!"

"Que—" _What_, he started to ask, but then knew. _Cypher. Locke. Logan. Danvers. Others. Guns._ _Lots of guns._ She'd shared.

They were up and moving, gathering the kids while trying not to alarm them too much. When they got to the exit of the holographic chambers, Rogue grabbed Évariste and kissed him fiercely.

"Get them safe," she said in a rush. "I'll catch up."

"Rogue, no," he said, reaching for her, their baby, even as she used Jean's telekinesis to push him and the kids own the narrow hall towards the emergency exit.

She closed her eyes. She couldn't look at him. _If you touch me, I might not stay._

"Ne faites pas ceci," _Don't do this_, he begged. "Si vous plais!" _Please!_ Unspoken: _Not now, that we're finally happy._

"It's a good plan," she whispered harshly. "We agreed." She didn't want to leave him or the kids any more than he wanted her to go. _Don't make this any harder._ "We stick to it."

His power was passive. Most of the Underground's were. Hers, however, was very not.

As she raced the opposite way down the hall, she kept pushing Évariste and the kids further and further away. Too bad she could hear them in her head like they were embracing her as she ran.

_Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime._

On and on he repeated it, fueling her. It was just like old times, during the war.

* * *

_Logan._

His name was whispered—feminine, angry, aggressive, urgent, but not antagonistic—through his mind.

"Thought I'd get further in," He mumbled grimly to himself. He'd hesitated to respond to her at first, but figuring he was caught anyways, he might as well answer. "So Gambit was right about your powers, huh, Rogue? You're a telepath too? Or is Jeannie still in there?" The last was a unhelpful dig at her and he knew it. He was just sore he'd been found out so quickly.

_Don't talk. Think. _She told him telepathically, ignoring the jibe. _Unless ya mean to help them take us out. _She felt his confusion, was relieved by it, and so told him, _Li'l Miss Major_ _Carol Danvers and oh, about few dozen of her and Val Cooper's covert ops flunkies._

He stopped.

_Don't stop, for crissakes. I thought ya were a professional, damnit. Hang on._ He got a flash of her unlocking a panel in the floor of a hallway that looked like every other hallway he'd been in so far. Another flash followed. Two guns, extra clips. Tucking them under her cloak. _Okay, Cypher's ahead, first left, last right. He'll get rid of the tracking device on your back._

"Well, shit," he said aloud before he remembered he was supposed to talk in his head. _Sorry._

_Ya should be. But at least you're here to help me contain this mess. And by Gawd, Logan, you WILL be helping. Cypher and Locke will help get the others out. Especially, the kids. You're gonna help in the muscle department. Seeing as we're a family organization, we're a little short an' all. Hang on._

He got a flash of her in a big kitchen, like something in a hotel restaurant. Cabinets. A Safe. It opens without her touching it.

_Bet Gambit would like to learn that trick_, he couldn't help but think.

She ignored him as she pulled out more firepower, loading them up all over her. Same types of guns mostly, but two different kinds of ammo it looked like. A few of the clips had dots of reflective tape on their sides as indicators.

_Found them_, he thought…at her. They were in a men's restroom, for kids and adults, judging by the two different heights of the facilities.

_Good. Now do as he says until I say otherwise. I'll meet ya in a few._

"How could you, Logan," Cypher asked as he removed the tracking device from where it was tucked under the edge of his shirt collar on his back. He flushed it down the toilet.

They heard the first sounds of shooting in the distance and Logan couldn't help but feel a little sheepish, and ashamed.

* * *

Rogue flung up an arm to deflect the downward swipe of the butcher's knife. She grabbed the attacker's arm, twisted it until it popped and the knife clattered to the floor. A sweep of her leg and the attacker was on her knees, bawling.

_Wait, bawling?_ She finally looked at her attacker. "Oh, Lyssa, I'm sorry. Ya scared me. Ya can't sneak up on me at a time like this." She hated that her accent got the better of her in times of duress, especially since she'd worked so hard to get it so neutral to help her dual-personas within and without of le Souterrain. _But honestly_, she thought dimly, _it's the least of my concerns at the moment._

"Rogue!?" Lyssa exclaimed through her sobs as if she hadn't realized who she was until just then either. "Soldiers came in here. They had the Simmons and the Dags at gunpoint. I hid in the pantry. I thought you were one of them. I heard the gunfire and thought that they'd killed them and come back for me."

"Ya gotta get a hold o' yaself," Rogue told the hysterical chef without sympathy. "Évariste is heading out with the first and second graders. Cypher and Locke are getting out the rest of the school. I still need someone I can trust to help with the nursery and pre-school. Can you do that, Lyssa?"

She hoped that giving Lyssa a seemingly important duty would help her stay focused and get somewhere safe. The nursery evacuation was run by Jemma, one of the other few mutants with fighting skills and powers to compliment them. Jemma didn't really need the help. But, at the same time, Lyssa wouldn't hinder their escape either.

Lyssa nodded frantically, her blubbering slowing. Rogue figured it'd have to do.

"Okay, here's what you need to do. Take the large dumbwaiter to the fourth floor. Across the hall is the nursery. They're moving the kids to the Shiar portal in the shielded room below them. There's a hatch in the cabinet beside the sink that leads down to it. Can you remember that?"

Again, Lyssa nodded, her blubbering almost completely gone. Jemma already knew the escape plan for the nursery and Lyssa should've known as well, but it never hurt to remind the hysterical in a time of crisis. Plus, having the direct instructions would give Lyssa something to keep her mind on until she got there, at which point, it'd save Jemma the re-explaining while trying to move all the babies and toddlers to safety.

"Okay, then. It's time to go." She opened the dumbwaiter and helped Lyssa in. "Now remember, Fourth Floor. Across the hall. Hatch by the sink. Port below."

She closed it and it started down. Rogue took a deep breath, let it out, and opened her mind to get a cursory update of the building.

_Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime._

Évariste chanted it, a subconscious hum. He was already nearing the Shiar port on the top floor. There were three in the building, on the third, eighth, and fifteenth floors. There was already a line backed up when Évariste arrived at theirs. He cursed reflexively in his native tongue before he took control and started shuffling people down to the other two.

_You're doing great_, Rogue thought to him. _Keep it up and we'll get everyone out. Love ya._

_Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime._

The background hum of it continued fueling her even as she scanned her way down the building to the basement, where two of Danvers' team finished setting charges and were counting down… 2… 1.

"No!" Rogue yelled aloud as she tried to stop the triggers with Jean's telekinesis from so far away… and failed.

BOOM! BOOM!

The power snapped off, including the supply to the portals on the eighth and fifteenth floors. The one on the third, the newest of them, was the only one with its own power supply. Rogue felt a margin of relief that at least the nursery evacuation would be fine. It faltered when she remembered that both the other portals were in mid transfer when the power shut off.

She shoved an armful of clips from the weapons safe into her bag, loaded one of the dotted ones into the gun she held, stomped out into the hall—

"Halt!"

—And shot, blam-blam, both agents square in the face.

"Two more," she told the corpses, "and we'll be even."

* * *

"It's okay, Jeremy," Cypher told the nine year old. "Your mom and brother are waiting on the other side. Cindy, here, will be going with you in that tube right next to yours."

Jeremy bit his lower lip, fighting tears, and nodded. He moved his hand and let Cypher close the glass door to his portal tube. He watched Locke's exaggerated finger formation count down with the digital voice.

Five, four, three, two, one… zzzzzt-FLASH!

A safety mechanism kept the doors shut until the transfer was complete. A digital display counted it down after the flash, ten seconds. When done, the machine took another fifteen seconds to reset before it would finally open the doors again.

It was only at seven of the transfer count for Cindy and Jeremy's port, when the power went out.

"Their dead," Cindy's Dad said with a disbelieving gasp. Anger struck hot and quick. "They killed them!"

"It's just a power outage," Logan said from the entrance to the room where he stood guard. He hadn't been told how the Shiar ports work. "I'm sure they made it fine."

"No," Cypher said, his voice dull, and full of dread. "They didn't."

He turned to the others and quieted their startled cries with a shrill whistle.

"We've got to keep our heads," he told them in a steady voice. "Partner up, grab hold of each others belt loops or twist a shirt and grip tight. Hands are too easy to let go of. Go out into the hall, hug your back against wall, and move to your right. There's an access shaft to just before the elevator. Go in, and climb down to the fourth floor. Listen before exiting. Hug the wall until you reach the nursery. One pair at a time."

He gave them a moment to let his directions sink in and to organize their partners before he touched the first set nearest him and pushed them to the door and out.

"Logan," he said as he listened to their progress. "Go down the hall on your left. After the second door, there's a garbage shoot. To it's left is a small square panel. Feel the edges until you find an indentation in it. Smack it three times, hard, right in that indent, and the outer door will open. The combination to the weapons safe is 424."

"I don't need a gun," Logan said with a familiar _snikt_ as he popped his claws.

"Put them away," Cypher hissed as he smacked Logan's forearm. "These people can't see in the dark like you can. This is a school floor. The guns only stun here. If you don't want to kill the people you brought here, use them. If you don't want to help stop them, then fine. But bring those guns to us to use. There should be fifteen in it."

"Where you going," Logan asked as he realized Cypher had started across the hall.

"Weapons locker other side of this floor," he said. "I'm not leaving these people out here without protection for themselves."

They set off on their missions. Locke stayed behind, supervising the slow progression to the only remaining working portal.

* * *

Rogue aligned the massive bolt tumblers with Jean's telekinesis a split second before she used it to punch in the doors to the holographics chamber.

_Duck_, she telepathically told the Simmons, the Dags, and the other two families corralled in there.

Blam-blam, she got the agent on the right. Heart and head. She rolled, came up on her on knees, and swung to her left. Blam-blam. She missed the first shot; it lodged in the wall behind him, and only got his thigh with the second. She was running up to him when she heard Elliot Dags kick the gun from the guy. Martin Simmons punched him. And by the time she got there, Suzi Brenton, a nineteen year old visiting her parents on a semester long break from college, had picked up the agent's gun and was shakily aiming it at him.

Rogue pressed the second agent securely against the floor with Jean's telekinesis while she carefully took hold of the gun and pried it from Suzi's hands. "It's mah burden," Rogue told her. She fished a few of the guns and stun cartridges, those not marked by the dots, and passed them out. Continuing to Suzi, she said, "Go help them and anyone else you come across along the way get to the Nursery port."

Rogue continued to hold the agent motionless until the group had exited. Once they were gone, she released him. She waited until he looked up at her before telling him, "You're number four. Now we're even."

Blam.

_Floors ten through fifteen are clear_, Rogue projected to Évariste, Jemma, Cypher, Locke, Logan, and the rest of the evacuation managers. There was one assigned to each floor, though many of them had not made it to their designated stations.

_Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime._

Évariste's soldiering mantra fueled her on.

_I'm moving down to nine._

* * *

"According to these schematics," Val said over the com-unit to Major Danvers. They'd ended radio silence once the fighting began. "They're all heading to the third and fourth floor to get to the Shiar portal there. It's the only one still working."

"Would've been nice to know this scenario was a possibility before now," Danvers said dryly. "I would've sent more than eight men up the stairs before they sealed them at three. I can't flank them over and under with only four remaining up top." She gritted her teeth. "Can't believe they actually killed them. Évariste always claimed they abhorred violence."

"You had what intel I had," Val countered. "I couldn't pull the builder's blueprints until I knew the address. And even then, I needed the energy output levels of the remaining portal to figure out where they installed it. Deathbird wasn't privy to that info."

"She privy to anything useful? We're getting pummeled by a couple of teens here. It's pathetic."

"Oh, I'll be useful, alright," Deathbird piped in over the com-system. Her synchronized image filled one of the screens from where she held vigil at the holding cells one level down that they had prepared in advance. "But you have to get face to face with them so you can tag them."

"You know what," Carol said, frustration getting the best of her, "You're right. Val, I'm done playing nice. I'm making my own entry."

* * *

Floors ten through fifteen of the city-block sized Elysium building were half consumed by the holographics chamber. The rest of fifteen contained a portal, its waiting area, and the observatory and control room for the chamber. The rest of eleven through fourteen were living quarters, mostly for short term and messenger residents, and also included Fausse and Narcisse's office and private suite. The rest of ten was kitchen and public eating areas. Anyone on those upper floors in an emergency was expected to report to the fifteenth floor portal for transfer to another of the Underground's complexes out of state.

The first and second floors were the most openly public areas of the building. Lobby, security, mailroom, and a couple offices occupied the logical street level. The second level was all offices. All persons on those two exited from a window or door to the street or out the basement to the tunnels and into Central Park to reconvene at a safe house on Long Island to portal to the designated out of state complex.

The eighth floor portal was assigned to people populating levels five through nine. Five, six and seven were dedicated living quarters, so at that time of the afternoon, they had been fairly empty. The eighth floor, as it was the school level, was, of course, filled with students, teachers, and parents retrieving their children. Three and four housed the infirmary, research, surgery, nursery, preschool, and communications divisions. That was why the newest and only self-powered portal had been installed there. If things were bad enough that they were down to that one, then it probably meant they needed access to medical supplies. However, to make sure no overzealous, terrified members ditched the very needy infants and toddlers, they all had to enter the portal via the stairs leading from the hatch in the infirmary.

The emergency plan that Rogue and Évariste had devised called for sealing all accesses between the second and third floors. This allowed them to hold a front there while surrounded by first aid equipment and easy access to the last ditch escape option by rerouting through the fourth floor nursery. Evariste along with the other evacuation managers, assigned by floor, would retrieve and distribute stunners from the weapons lockers as needed while they oversaw an orderly egress to ports and other exits. Those with medical training or possessed telepathy reported to the infirmary to coordinate finding injured and administering first aid before moving them up through the nursery for priority transport. The rare few fighters of the group also reported to three and were charged with sealing off all points of entry and keeping the invaders from getting past. Rogue, with Jean's masterful telepathy and telekinesis along with the skills she'd earned throughout the war, then was left with sweeping and clearing from top to bottom.

Nearly half way through her sweep and clear, Rogue eased out onto the ninth and, though also considered a school level as it was used for learning self-defense and the use of one's mutant powers, most dangerous level for invaders to enter. Rogue pondered this concept sourly as she surveyed it and found its stocks of stun guns and other non-lethal hand held weapons too full for her comfort. Afternoon was prime time for the fitness and training center. She expected the students, instructors, and other members there to have grabbed whatever weapon they were fluent with before maneuvering to the evacuation sites at the first signs of attack. By the looks of things, they had simply stopped what they were doing and fled.

_Five years without incident must have softened them_, she thought as she inched her way to the two agents she knew from Jean's telepathy were sneaking around the fitness machines. _Softened me too_, she thought as she pressed a hand to her belly. She was glad she couldn't yet feel the life growing inside her. _Then I'd be softer still._

Using Jean's telekinesis, she nudged a few free weights off the rack. Soon as the agents spun to investigate the noise, she leaned out and popped them with the stun guns.

_Or maybe not_, she thought when she remembered the urge to use the real bullets. Regrettably, she'd controlled herself with logic. _No need to rile the spooks any more by killing off all of their agents. Last thing we need is a systematic infiltrate and capture scenarios on all our complexes._

That thought inspired Rogue to physically double-checked the downed agents' pulse and breathing before she tied them up with metal cording she'd yanked telekinetically from the fitness machines. She tightened the bound significantly, also via telekinesis, before heading back to the stairs and finally down to where she was needed most.

_Nine's clear_, she reported to the evacuation managers. _Just gotta hold steady at three until everyone's out. _She rushed down the stairs, past the eighth floor. Seventh. Sixth. _Cypher, why don't you boot up the beacon to Lila. Grudge or no from our incommunicado, she ain't heartless. She'd probably speed the last of this up._

_Already on it, _Cypher answered her._ One more minute until uplink's complete._

Fifth.

_Évariste?_

_Good as long as you are well_, he reassured her. With his words she got a flash of him sending off another pair through the portal. She also noted how many were still left to go. _At least sixty._ She checked her watch. It'd been twenty minutes since she first sensed Logan and Danvers and had alerted the evacuation managers. Despite the adrenalin and action, it felt longer. _'Cause at only about four a minute, it'll be at least another fifteen to transport them out._ And a lot could go wrong in fifteen minutes.

Fourth.

_Erin, Blink, Logan, I'm almost to ya. How ya holding up?_

She felt Erin's trepidation before she telepathically heard her speak. _I don't think we can last that much longer._

_Just keep the stairs clear. I'm coming in. _

Rogue was six steps from the third floor landing when the whole building shook from an impact tremor. She kept her footing, barely, and was curiously wondering how Val had gotten a wrecking ball astride the building without her reading it from any of the agents thoughts when the building shook again, the impact slightly higher.

And then, dumbly, she remembered why she couldn't telepathically read anything more of Danvers' other than her presence.

"Carol!" She screamed in horror and frustration as she skidded to a stop just outside the third floor stairwell. Dust and debris tumbled about, but she could still see the enormous whole punched through the third and fourth floors.

Even as she stared up through the gap in the ceiling at Carol's smug hovering form, Rogue had believed Carol was honorable enough to play it fair.

* * *

_See you next chapter!_

Posted June 2008.


	7. Chapter 7 Stranger

**Disclaimer: **Mwahahahaha! I got 'em! I even snuck past Wolverine's senses and bypassed Gambit's tricky alarms! It was dark, so I'll have to check the bag to see who I got… Let's see, there is… Narcisse _(Évariste)_, Erin Lomb, Gemini _(Jemma and Niles Herrow)_, Taurus _(Cristoff Herrow)_, Pass _(Ely Batrist)_, Anima _(Marlee Shilling)_, Max Shilling, Lyssa, and Suzi. Crapola! These are all my creations! Dag nabbit! X-Men still belong to Marvel.

Welcome to another _very_ long chapter. 27 pages, single spaced. Nearly 11,000 words. (Sorry.) Worth it, I promise.

**Chapter Seven**

_Soft like a rose cloaked in daggers  
Your grin I can lease for the anger  
I'm sorry you felt that  
You needed to hide  
The difference inside you  
You know I'm filthy_

_Shut up, and listen  
Why don't you give up this mission?  
Shut up, and look at me  
I'm just a stranger  
Who let you think you knew me?_

_You crept up on me like cat on a mouse  
Light on my feet and loose in the mouth  
You waited until you  
Saw me go so  
The moment you break me  
I'll say it simply_

_Shut up, and listen  
Why don't you give up this mission?  
Shut up, and look at me  
I'm just a stranger  
Who let you think you knew me?_

_Words on the tip of my tongue  
Taking anger back just for fun  
I am not your prodigal son_

_Shut up, and listen  
Why don't you give up this mission?  
Shut up, and look at me  
I'm just a stranger  
Who let you think  
I'm just a stranger  
Who let you think  
I'm just a stranger  
Who let you think you knew me?_

_("Stranger," Johnny Hollow)_

-

Even as Carol, hovering in the hole between the third and fourth floors, pulled out a strange looking gun with a pulsing barrel, Rogue believed Carol would play it honorably.

"Why, Carol?" Rogue tried reasoning. "What's worth all this?"

"Uncle Sam doesn't permit his clandestine societies secreting themselves away from him."

"It's called a vacation," Rogue quipped. "You should take one."

"Right after I bring in Fausse and Narcisse."

"Words to choke on."

"Then what about these?" Carol practically sang the following, "I'll let everyone else go."

"Words to die for," Rogue said steadily. "If only they were true."

Even as Carol aimed the weird pulsing gun at six-year-old Maxim, Rogue still believed Carol would play it honorably.

Hip cocked, arms crossed, Rogue called her bluff, "You wouldn't."

She did. And, though it was stunning, it most certainly wasn't a stun gun.

* * *

Seven minutes or so ago…

"Clear," Erin yelled as the emergency room swing-lift took its last rotation to the only remaining teleportation portal.

Erin Lomb, though only sixteen years old, was notably the most talented mutant healer the world had ever known. However, as a member of the Underground, she wasn't exactly very known to the public. That suited her just fine because she had a sinking feeling they wouldn't approve of her other rather unorthodox, and quietly relished, uses of her power. She didn't get to do it very often, seeing as people weren't exactly volunteering in droves to let her rip open their wounds for practice, but she mutedly hoped the opportunity would present itself during this skirmish.

"Clear," Cristoff yelled as he jerked his powerful hands from the stairwell door.

Cristoff Herrow, twenty-eight and proud of it, was a powerhouse with a minor psi basis. He had three quarter-sized emerald gems that seemed embedded into his flesh, though he was born with them. One was at the interior of each wrist, which made taking his pulse infuriating, and the final gem was centered above his eyebrows, just at the edge of his hairline. The latter was like a focus, but the other two, that was where the magic happened, as far as he was concerned. They collected the ambient kinetic energy from all motion and friction that occurred within a few feet of them. He could then tap into that stored energy and an emerald hued psionic formation would envelop his upper body to grant him added bulk, strength, and endurance. Psi projected bullhorns also curled to sharp points from his head, prompting the nickname: Taurus. He could use these enhancements for their typical uses, such as lifting heavy objects, impaling sturdy ones, punching through barriers, and so on. However, what with the limited psi base to the power, he could also transfer that strength and endurance to other objects. Until just that moment, he had been reinforcing the stairwell door with that ability. Hands lifted free of it, and it was just as it had been, a well-locked durable steel door. In less than another moment, the door had a circular transparent spot in the center of it.

"Incoming," yelled Ely as he peered through the fuzzy edged pseudo-porthole he'd just enabled in the stairwell door. Two agents were a dozen steps from thrusting a battering ram at it. "Tabs, gimme two!"

Tabitha Smith turned from her station at the open elevator shaft and tossed two of her time-delay explosive orbs, about the size of golf balls, across the room and towards the convincing hole in the door. Despite the actual solidity of the door, Tabitha had no worries of blasting it. One of Clarice's glowing pink arrow bolts was already catching up and passing her orbs in mid-flight. Unfortunately, Kyle Gibney, aka Wild Child, wasn't paying as close attention. In his hyped up frustrated pacing, he chose that moment to turn and step right in their path.

"Kyle," Clarice yelled in warning. She noticed the problem right after she loosed the bolt, a focused and condensed teleportation energy field of her own formation, from her trademark bow, but couldn't do anything more to stop the inevitable collision other than to yell at him. All that did was get him to turn, piercings jingling and long blond hair swirling, to see the projectiles inches from his face.

"Got 'em," Niles said. All three of his citrine gems—one above each temple and the third at the base of his throat, right in the hollow between his collarbones—flashed and a projection of goat horns sprouted from his head. Their lemony glow held steady as he influenced the projectiles, thwarting their trajectory around Kyle before allowing them to continue to their original goals.

Ely released his transparency of the stairwell door, returning it to its full opacity. Clarice's bolt hit next, creating a basketball sized portal in it. The pink energy crackled at the edges and when Tabitha's orbs hit it, it flared pink for an instant before disappearing altogether. Once it blinked closed, Cristoff replaced his hands against the door, transferring his strength to it, reinforcing it a hundred fold again. They didn't even hear the explosions, let alone the yelps of surprise from its receivers, on the other side.

"Kyle!" Erin marched straight up to the feral and restless gothic-punk as if he couldn't tear her throat out with a small swipe of his claws. Maybe it was because all those holes from his many piercings—eyebrows, elf-point ears, nose, nipples, navel, and a few less visible places—tempted her too finely to tear into him herself. "I'm sorry you're bored," she continued her tirade. "But too bad. Suck it up and pay attention or—"

"Or what?" Kyle teased. "You'll tell your mommy?" He couldn't help it. Erin was three years younger than him, she had a crush on him despite his involvement with her best friend, Clarice, and, well, he was wound tight with pent-up energy. He wanted to fight already.

Erin smiled and it was a little fierce.

Kyle clutched his crotch, having just felt a hint of a tearing sensation at the piercing there. It stopped as soon as it started.

"Or…" Erin said dramatically, "You'll miss your turn." She winked and tipped her head to direct him to the window behind him.

"We've got climbers!" Kyle whooped excitedly as he saw an agent shimmying up a cord outside the window. He bounded across the room, leapt to the sill and waved at the agent. "Hi," he said before he swiped his claws through the cord. "Bye," he laughed as he watched him fall.

"Quit playin' around," Jemma said as she descended the stairs. Like her twin, Niles, and their older brother, Cristoff, she had glowing gems embedded in both her ankles and the small of her back. Their color matched Niles, and was one of the reasons that the pair was often dubbed the Gemini. "There's more than one window."

Kyle threw her an eager grin before bounding to cut loose another of the many climbing agents that were climbing up to the many windows around the third floor.

"Why aren't you up at the Nursery," Erin asked Jemma sharply. The infirmary was her domain not Jemma's. Hers. She wasn't giving up control over it.

"Évariste and Cypher are there now," Jemma said. Her voice was its typical warm and malleable reserve. It was hard to be too riled for too long when she spoke. She made a person feel like a hot spring cradled them in a slow drift. It wasn't a mutant power, simply a personality trait.

"Too many leaders in too small a place," Erin said knowingly. "I get it."

"Yeah," Jemma said. Erin bothered her sometimes. The girl had too much ability, too much understanding and way too much of an affinity with blood and pain. Jemma also believed Emma needed to survive a few hard knock-backs before she'd be really good leader material for the Underground. She shrugged the thought off for another time and then jerked a nod to the gruff man coming out of the stairwell landing behind her, saying, "And Logan was getting a bit like Kyle gets."

Logan may have been going stir-crazy guarding the evacuation, but he found it annoyingly awkward to follow Jemma down the stairs. She stirred his senses in conflicting ways that hadn't happened in a long time. Her two hooves made no sound whatsoever as they precisely cantered from step to step as they descended. The hooves were a psi projection of some sort, he could tell, seeing as the entire horse-like structure that jutted out from her back as if she were a centaur or a satyr was transparent, glowing like honey in the sunlight, and yet interacted with solid substances as if they were real living flesh. Part of him wanted to try to walk right through the projection. Another part of him didn't want to look like an ass in the trying by ridiculously bumping into it… her. He shook his head and huffed.

"Ahh," Erin said. "Well, like you said, there are a lot more windows."

Logan took the cue and headed for one on the opposite side of the room. Jemma didn't watch him go, but she smiled softly as if she felt him wrench his guttural gaze from her as he moved onto his task. Erin rolled her eyes as Jemma lifted her left arm, on which a miniature crossbow was strapped, aimed it directly at Erin, who stood a mere few feet in front of her, and fired. Logan's head whipped around in alarm only to see the arrow take a ninety-degree angle turn to miss Erin by inches, swoop a circle around Logan, and then bisect the cord of the climber who just clutched onto the sill behind him. The agent almost fell, but managed to latch on with his other hand as well. Bad for him; Logan's claws sank into them.

"Show off," Erin complained. The smell of the blood Logan had drawn called to her. She ached to tear open those wounds he'd made, to bare the muscles and bones of the agent's hands to the open air, and to see if she could unzip his skin straight up to his shoulders. Healing was how Rogue and Évariste permitted her to use her powers, but she always felt like it was the opposite purpose of them.

"Don't," Jemma warned Erin. It was the real reason she had come down to help hold the third floor. Erin couldn't exactly be trusted to keep the brawling… wholesome. In medical diagnosis, Erin excelled, in surgery, she was a genius, but Jemma feared that this first encounter with an enemy could prove to be too great a temptation for Erin if she was left on her own.

"You ladies mind?" Ely asked slyly. "You're blocking my view."

Ely Batrist got outed as a mutant when an off duty female cop discovered he was peaking into the female showers by making a small circlet of the adjoining male locker room wall transparent. It was the first time anybody had ever looked back through one of his transparencies, and it was a lesson learned well. Just because they didn't see him before, hadn't meant they couldn't. Thankfully for him, she didn't realize it wasn't an actual hole. She'd tried to punch him through it and ended up smashing her knuckles quite badly into the tile wall. He used those precious few moments to evade arrest by fleeing the training center and running right into Bishop. The stoic officer took eventual pity on his thirteen-year-old self and got him and his family hooked up with the Underground via Danvers and Val. Now, two years later, he was using those powers to keep watch on the activities of Danvers' team on the floor below them. He slinked about the main room of the infirmary in a crouch as he swept his palms in spotlight like rotations. Where they roamed, they reduced the opacity of the floor.

Clarice fired a pink bolt of her teleportation fields and it spliced the air between Ely, Jemma, and Erin. It arched around some medical equipment, thanks to Niles, and continued on through another window to… miss the climber, who dropped a quick few inches on his cord, and hit the light pole beyond. Kyle growled and launched himself at the agent, dragging him into the narrow portal with him.

"Cripes," Jemma cursed in her child-friendly habit as she saw the debacle unfold. "Blink," she ordered, "Follow him. Make sure he gets back here. Make it quick."

Clarice slung her bow over her head and across her chest as she ran and jumped into her portal before it closed.

"Where'd they go," Logan asked as he dropped another of the climbing agents to splat on the pavement three stories below.

"Looked like the tunnels," Jemma said, unsure. "Maybe the Alley."

"Why ain't she helping to get the others out?"

"Because," Erin said snidely, "That's the farthest she knows she can hold a portal for very long. And unfortunately, that's how you led these people in here."

"There's a lot of open miles between here and that distance by way of the streets," Logan answered her back. "Couldn't she just teleport them up top in the opposite direction?"

"Yes," Erin continued, her eyes locked on the blood dripping from his shiny, shiny claws. "And I'm so sure that sixty-odd people just stepping out onto the street and then fleeing en masse wouldn't draw any undue attention on some random street." She clenched and unclenched her fists. "What was Graydon Creed's promise when he got elected Mayor? A cop on every corner? Do you really think it wouldn't get reported? Get back to Danvers and Val?"

Tabitha yelped as a fragment byproduct from one of her own tiny explosions down the elevator shaft lodged into her leg.

Erin's eyes glassed over. "Excuse me," she muttered and went to heal Tabitha.

"What's her problem," Logan asked Jemma. He'd noticed Erin's strange attention on his claws.

"You've been drawing blood," Jemma answered him nonchalantly.

"It is a fight, isn't it?" Logan said in misunderstanding. "It's not like I'm killing them."

"No, Logan," Jemma said and shook her head. "She's jealous."

A crackling pink portal opened along the wall beside Logan and Jemma. It spat out Kyle and Clarice, and then blinked closed.

"Who's jealous," Clarice asked.

Kyle slapped a hand to Clarice's hip, dragged her in for a kiss, and with a jingly wink, said, "Erin, who else?"

She pushed him away, all business. He annoyed her when he played during serious moments, annoyed her more when he tormented Erin for her crush on him.

_Erin, Clarice, Logan, I'm almost to ya._ It was Rogue's telepathic inquiry._ How ya holding up?_

Erin paused in her healing of Tabitha, looked around at their seemingly unending guard of the windows, door, and elevator, and answered, _I don't think we can last that much longer._

_Just keep the stairs clear. I'm coming in. _

"I don't think the stairs are our biggest problem anymore," Ely said. "Not even the windows," he added as he swung both hands around to spotlight a helicopter pad-sized transparency on the center of the floor for Jemma and Erin to see. "They're clearing a space for something big down here."

They all peered into the transparency to see the dark-blond haired female agent, the very one that seemed to have been giving all the orders down there, motioning her people to put some distance between themselves and her.

"That's Danvers," Jemma said, her voice heating the slightest bit. "Why is she crouching like—Taurus! The floor! NOW!"

Cristoff dove from the stairwell and into the room. Just before his hands connected with the floor, Ely swung his transparencies outward to the walls. Experience had told them that even though his power was typically a visual-only effect, they interacted with Cristoff's ability to transfer his strength to objects. They had gotten a glimpse of Carol lifting off, but then the floor was visually solid, fully opaque, and they heard a dull thump.

Cristoff cringed as if in pain. The glow of his gems flickered and dimmed. He kept his hands clamped to the floor, but looked at Jemma in pleading. "That took almost all I—"

Taurus' mouth opened in a silent scream, his gems darkened completely, the psi projected bulk and horns snapped away, and he began to sink into the floor, ghost-like, as Carol burst through it and continued on up through the ceiling.

"Niles, get him!" Jemma ordered, because she could only affect her own projectiles while Niles affected other objects in motion.

Niles hadn't needed to be told. Before she had finished her order, he had already gripped Cristoff with his powers. And though he was unable to lift and carry him like a traditional telekinetic, he could at least slow Cristoff's intangible descent, make it sluggish, so that he didn't sink too far too fast. Left on his own in such an over-depleted state, Cristoff would have simply sunk through the second, first, and basement floors, deeper and deeper into the earth, and eventually out of their reach. They needed a real telekinetic to truly save him.

It was then that Rogue skidded to a stop before the gaping hole Carol had just created.

Niles prematurely sighed with relief.

* * *

Ching-phoom…thmp.

With the pulsations along the barrel of Danvers' strange weapon, Rogue had expected some sort of energy beam to come blaring out of it. Instead, a simple flat disc that was hardly aerodynamic made a slow progression to slap against Maxim's cheek.

Marlee ran for him, but Évariste swooped a hand around her, stopping her.

"Tag," Carol said with a smug grin, "You're it."

Maxim had time to blink a few times in confusion and terrible anticipation before tendrils of light snaked out from the disc and slithered through his skull, down his neck, along his arms, into his belly, boring through his legs, and looping around and back to their starting point. He had time to open his mouth in a startled _Oh!_ before his very cells shimmered, vibrated, and then split apart, dancing away into nothingness with a faint degenerating hiss.

"Maaaaaaaaax!" Marlee's scream was that high-pitched keening wail that only small children could manage. It went on and on, and seemed to shake the entire building as it did so.

Rogue clutched her head and collapsed to her knees. The shaking, she discovered the hard way, was not from Marlee's scream, but was instead the result of the early onset of Marlee's mutation. Unpredictably, hundreds of sentient thoughts spontaneously burst into existence, and, by default, assaulted every telepath's mind within range. Most telepaths in the Underground weren't as powerful or autonomous as Jean's telepathy was, so, although they were accosted by the surprising newborn presences, Rogue was actually knocked unconscious by them. The rest of the pre-existing population, Underground and agents alike, were simply confused and slightly creeped out as the numerous plushies, dolls, plastic cars, model planes, miniature trains and other toys rumbled down the stairs, out of the elevator shafts, and through the doorways of the nursery, pre-school, and children's area of the infirmary. Marlee was on the warpath to avenge her brother's apparent death, and she was using the only objects she knew how to wield: every last toy and plaything in the entire fifteen stories of the Elysium building.

Marlee continued her ear-piercing scream until she realized that the entire third and fourth floors were flooded with her private army.

Sobbing, she ordered, "Get them!" She wiped her eyes, and added, "Kill them!"

"Well, then," Carol stated calmly, though her eyes were a little wide with shock, "I guess that makes you next."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Jemma warned as she fired—fwump, fwump—two arrows from her wrist-strapped crossbow.

Carol abruptly dropped several feet to let them sail overhead and was startled to find they followed her movement. She took off at a fast pace, but choppy in the limited space, as she had to roll and turn and twist around corners and through doorways in order to stay ahead of the projectiles. She figured that she'd be clear as soon as she was out of Jemma's line of sight, but soon learned that was not the case. Like her brothers, Jemma's powers had a minor basis in psi. Once she had her lock on a target, she could follow it with her own initiated projectiles for miles. And then, she could make sure they sunk in.

Unfortunately, she knew that Cristoff couldn't afford that kind of patience. She needed Carol under control and Rogue awake and coherent so she could keep Taurus together with Jean's telekinesis long enough for Taurus to absorb enough motion with the gems grown out of his wrists. Only then could he restore his own strength and solidarity.

"Ely," Jemma called and pointed at a central column. "That post. Do not leave even a hint of a wire or nail."

Ely knew what she wanted. They'd done the trick often enough in practice. Of course, then it was in a confined space, with no real danger of the outcome, and not with an entire steel support beam either. Still, he didn't question. He latched onto the post with both hands, focused, and removed all of its opacity. He made it seem to disappear.

"Hold it," she directed, "Almost there…"

BONG!

Carol, one floor above, was fooled by the transparency of it despite her seventh sense singing danger at her. She had believed the internal warning was for Jemma's arrows gaining on her and she had believed there was an empty space straight ahead of her, right up until she slammed head first into the steal support beam at break-neck speed.

Crack…

And with the invulnerability she'd also gotten along with her flight, strength, immunities, and seventh sense during an ill-fated mission for the Kree's help in the tri-sided war, she kept right on going through the support column.

And the wall beyond.

And the brick and mortar of the exterior wall.

And the next building over.

At then she was falling more than flying, though Jemma doubted it would keep her away for too long a time.

The building groaned, but retained its stature.

"Erin, rouse Rogue," Jemma ordered, staying on task. A moment passed without response or movement, so Jemma stomped over and shook the wide-eyed teen. "Erin, snap out of it and do what I said."

"I—I can't," Erin stammered, still frozen in place. "They're all _alive_." She said the last like it was the most beautiful thing imaginable. "I can feel them. I can feel every last screw, stitch, and line of dried glue. It's like they're begging to be pulled apart by their seams."

"What? The toys?"

"They… they… they Are."

Jemma, dumbfounded, permitted herself to stare at Erin for a single moment more before she slapped her.

Erin snapped to attention and bore the full weight of all that macabre knowledge on Jemma to tell her, "Thanks."

It sounded more like _bitch_ to Jemma.

Regardless, it did the trick and got Erin moving. She shoved aside an armload of marching stuffed teddy bears, stood and started for Rogue. As she leaned down to begin her focused examination, she looked to Jemma and, with a wicked smile, ordered to Niles, "Let Taurus go."

Jemma was about to counter the command when she saw Cristoff out of her peripheral vision, through the hole Carol made in the floor and between all the toys falling past like a waterfall. He was flailing about and all his gems shone at full blare.

"The toys," Jemma muttered. They made a lot of motion and friction, the very things that fed Cristoff's wrist-gems.

Jemma nodded her permission to Niles, who removed his influence from Cristoff, who promptly fell to the floor of the second level… surrounded by agents with weapons they quickly trained on him. None of those guns pulsed like Carol's had, but that didn't mean they couldn't be lethal. Still, Cristoff, at full strength, was a physical force to be reckoned with. He squared his shoulders, dipped his head down, pointed those long curling psi horns ahead of him, and rammed the encircling agents. Any shots they got off merely glinted off Taurus' emerald hued, psi-projectd bulk.

As Jemma watched she saw a couple of Tabitha's orbs teeter over the edge into a small group of the agents and the growing pool of toys. Smiling, she didn't wait to hear the orbs go off. They were doing as well as could be expected. They just had to keep the agents occupied until the rest of the evacuees got teleported out. And then, then she'd find out what Danvers had done to Maxim.

"The gun," Rogue gasped as she gained consciousness from Erin's healing ministrations. "She dropped it." She didn't bother scrambling to her feet. A bubble of Jean's telekinesis sprang up around her and lifted her up through the hole in the ceiling.

"Thanks would be nice," Erin muttered.

"Pipe down," Jemma told her, then smiled, "And do something useful."

Erin lit up. "You mean it?"

"Yeah," Jemma told her. "But don't kill them or permanently maim them. Just… keep them busy and weak."

That eerie morbid curiosity glazed Erin's eyes and she said, "Oh, they won't die. I can heal them." Then she ran to the stairwell door, unlocked it, and continued to the second floor to help Taurus.

The rest of the Underground's fighters followed down as well, though Logan and Kyle chose to drop through the hole rather than use the stairs.

* * *

As Rogue scanned the floor of the fourth level in search of the dropped pulsating weapon, she checked in on Évariste.

He was crouched beside Marlee, who still cried quietly.

"So you can sense them all, vraiment?" He asked Marlee in a soothing tone.

Marlee nodded.

"Can you see what they see? Feel what they feel?"

Marlee nodded.

"Okay, you want to be careful with that," Évariste told her carefully. "Imagine that feeling like it's a rope leading from you to them. Each strand of the rope is a direct line between you and one of them. Imagine holding that rope like the reigns of a horse. Remember when Jemma last permitted you to ride on her back as if she really were a horse? Remember how she loosened her belt and made you hold on, use it to give her cues to turn or stop?"

Marlee nodded.

"It's somewhat like that," he continued. "You have the reigns so you have control. You aren't them and they aren't you. You are separate from each other, but are connected by the reigns, the ropes, the very strings that make the rope. If anything feels wrong, you break those reigns. You stop the connection. You get away."

Marlee hesitated. "Won't they… die?"

Évariste considered lying to Marlee, but then decided against it. With her brother Maxim's recent fate, the idea of death was too fresh, too raw for her to believe it.

Rogue felt his deliberation of the emotional dilemma through the fix. She felt him tap his powers to learn what would be the best route to take for Marlee. His power was to please, after all, and the pleasing it seemed, wasn't just to sate a current happiness. It sought long term goals, a miasma of reasoning and possibilities factored through a conduit of his mind to fill him with a knowing, singular and solitary. Mostly.

"You are not their parent," Évariste told Marlee. "Not their sister either. They are not your brother, your cousin, or your child. They are manifestations of your power. As real as they seem, they exist _for_ your use. Therefore, you must protect yourself first and them second. I do not know if they will die if you severed your connection to them. But, if you died by not cutting them loose, would you have saved them?"

She hesitated, thinking. "I guess not. I mean… how could they live if I didn't?"

"Exactly," he said and hugged her. "But more than that, you simply must come first for yourself. Your health, your safety, your existence must matter more to you than they do. You first, always and forever, and later, after that, you worry about the creations of this very special power you have. Okay?"

Rogue smiled, despite the severity of the situation in its entirety. Évariste was so good with children. He would be a fantastic father to their child; she was sure of it. She rubbed a hand over her belly and felt him glance at her as she did so. She sent her acknowledgement through the fix and continued looking for Carol's dropped weapon.

She spotted it the same time as Cypher, who, along with Locke and a couple other adults, had resumed the portal evacuation some time before she'd regained consciousness. She was making her way over to him as he picked it up and examined it.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack-thwack. Whirrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Several grappling hooks lodged into the ceiling and agents propelled up them.

On instinct, Cypher jerked the weapon in line with the nearest rising agent and pulled the trigger.

Ching-phoom…thmp.

A direct hit on the ascending agent.

Cypher dropped the weapon in horror.

Évariste covered Marlee's eyes and turned her away.

Familiar tendrils of light snaked out from the disc adhered to the agent's forehead and slithered through his skull, down his neck, along his arms, deep into his belly, boring through his legs, and looping around and back to their starting point. He was still ascending when his very cells shimmered, vibrated, and then split apart, dancing away into nothingness with a degenerating hiss.

Frantic, some of the waiting evacuees panicked, pushing to get away from the man, stumbling over each other and the gun. It got kicked a few times and before Rogue could grab it with Jean's telekinesis, it flipped, end over end, down the hole in the floor, and the next one, into the spotty darkness of the second floor. A muted explosion from one of Tabs smaller orbs briefly lit the second floor, but did not reveal the gun.

"I'm sorry," Cypher said.

"It happens," Rogue said and frowned wryly. "Don't worry about it. Just get them out of here."

There were about forty-five left. So long as they could keep most of the fighting down there on the second floor, they'd be fine. To prove her point to herself, she used Jean's telekinesis to yank the grappling hooks down and then took a fighting stance against the agent that had clambered off his cord and onto the fourth floor just before she dropped it.

"Rogers," she said as she read his name from his own mind, "Ya sure ya want to be doing this?"

Surprisingly, he holstered his gun, which, she read from his thoughts, was loaded with the stun ammo that Danvers had supplied for their weapons.

"Oh, yeah," he said as pulled out a nine-inch hunting knife. "I'm sure."

She yanked it away and into her own hand using Jean's telekinesis. His hand closed reflexively in its absence.

She grinned, mocking. "Still sure?"

He grinned ferociously, and pulled out two more blades—skinny, short, and without handles—throwing them as soon as he grabbed them. His thighs were loaded with tiny pockets of them.

* * *

"Hold on," Deathbird told Val over the intercom, "Got another one coming…"

Val watched the video screens as a body shimmered into existence inside the cell beside the one that held the shocked six-year-old boy, Maxim.

"Damnit, Danvers," Val cursed when she saw the agent fully materialize. "First a no-nothing little kid who doesn't even have any powers yet and now one of our own. What the hell are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," came Danvers' garbled response over the com-unit, "You need to stop second-guessing me from way up in your comfy tower all the way in Washington."

Val jerked her attention to Danvers' video. It was still filled with static and white noise, the same as it had been since she punched through the third and fourth floors, the impact having apparently damaged the camera.

"Well, at least you're awake again," Val said, ignoring her grumpy jibe. "Now get your ass back in there and get control of this mess. It was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab."

"Keep talking like that," Danvers said. She grunted, and a crash was heard in the background, like she'd just tossed something heavy off herself. "And you're off my Christmas list."

"That's a good soldier," Val said.

* * *

Logan smashed through the fourth level stairwell door as he tackled another agent. He retracted his claws a split second before his fist connected with the agent's jaw. Not bothering to check if the agent was out for the count or not, he spun, grabbed hold of the armor of the other agent that was jumping him from behind, twisted and launched him over his head. A group of waiting evacuees scattered as the agent slammed into the wall and slumped into a motionless heap.

Snikt! Logan took a menacing stance as he caught his breath and waited for Jemma to finish chasing the next four agents up to him.

* * *

Rogue caught Rogers' fletchettes with Jean's telekinesis and held them aloft as he sent another volley her way.

"I can do this all day, Rogers," she said, spitting his name like a curse. "But you're bound to run out of 'em sooner or later."

He advanced. She advanced. He tossed. She caught.

"Question is," she said as she roped the latest volley to levitate along with the previous ones, "Will that happen before I lose my patience? 'Cause I don't think that armor of yours will hold up to all of these shiny li'l things. Not against the force and speed I'll be throwing them."

He stopped advancing. She continued. He tossed, four this time. She caught. He grinned.

"Maybe," he said, "I just need to distract you long enough."

He threw four more.

"Rogue, lookout!" Marlee yelled.

Rogue snagged the four blades and ducked… not quite fast enough. She felt something catch hold of her hood. She felt a tingle up there, a rustling, but before she could deal with it, she saw another volley of Rogers' blades come her way. As she reached to catch them, she simultaneously heard Marlee's panicked, wordless scream along with Évariste's fix-shared instructions, _Take it off!_ Thus, redirecting her again.

She scrabbled to get the hooded cloak off of her and flung it over the hole in the floor. She watched, mesmerized and a little stunned at being taken unawares, as it fell, sparkling with the tendrils, and shimmering as it danced apart into nothingness…

And then she was struck by three of four of Rogers' throwing blades. One had whizzed by her head, a second struck her collarbone and glanced off, but the third and fourth… they sunk deep into her belly—low, between her hips.

She stared numbly at them and marveled at the lack of blood. She shared this reviling revelation with Évariste through the fix, but as soon as she sent it, she felt it reverberate off an unexpected barrier. She whipped around to question him only to find Marlee, sobbing once again, and clinging to him, as he pressed his hands against himself to try to stop the bleeding from his woundless gut. The bleeding from his shoulder went unattended.

_Oh, gawd, no_, Rogue thought for the umpteenth time that day. The fix had transferred the damage of her injuries to him in order to protect the fetus growing inside her.

"Well, that's hardly fair," Rogers said from behind her and realized his mistake too late. He had reminded her of his presence, his part in Évariste's condition.

Even as he threw as many volleys of his blades as he could, he believed she wouldn't allow him to survive.

With a growl, she ripped the blades from her belly by hand while she caught every last blade he threw with Jean's telekinesis. When his hands slapped his thighs and came up empty of blades, she smiled, slow and predatory. She aimed his blades, levitated all lazy-like, and kept them there in wait. She kept him in wait for it. She wanted him to _know_ what was to come.

He scuttled backwards and tripped over a chunk of the debris from Carol's messy entrance through the floors. As he splattered to his back atop a rubber duck, which squeeked, Rogue stopped smiling.

She threw each and every one of the thirty-six fletchettes all at the same time.

* * *

Wolverine downed an agent in time to see Jemma stomp on the last of hers with one of her psi-projected hooves. She tossed her hair back out of her face to flash him a conspiratorial grin when he heard a now familiar distinct noise from a distance outside the window nearest them.

Ching-phoom…thmp.

It smacked Jemma's thigh, one of her real ones, not a psi projected back horse-leg. They both looked at it, then each other, and she told him, "Protect them." As the tendrils took her, she reared back on those psi legs, and kicked him away with her real ones. By the time he rolled to his feet and looked back to her, she was gone.

He turned to the window where the shot came from just in time to see Carol fly through it, sending him across the room, through the hole she'd made earlier, and into the chaos of the second floor.

* * *

Erin played with a pair of agents, now in shock, near the elevators on the second floor. They had several scratches and minor punctures that she tugged open and closed at her pleasure. She was about to cure their shock, seeing as they were much more boring when they didn't yelp in pain, but then Logan, heavy adamantium-laced skeleton and all, landed on them, crushing them. Sensing the utter finality of their deaths, she frowned.

Then she shrugged and set to helping Logan's healing factor work even faster so he could get out of her way.

* * *

Cypher was finding it harder and harder to keep Locke from joining the fight, especially after he saw the splash of red hit the carpet in front of Évariste. He wrenched his attention away from the mounting carnage that was ever nearing him and the remaining evacuees, and ushered the next group into the pods for transference. As another group stepped forward, he glanced along the dwindling line. A couple dozen or so was all that remained. Eight minutes, nine, tops. After that, he and Locke could do what they could to help Rogue, Logan, and the others still on the lower levels.

And yet… his own pair of stunners at his hips weighed heavy against him. He couldn't lose the memory of that man dispersing and evaporating out of existence at the single pull of a trigger.

* * *

Val watched the next materialization with great intent. Its initial silhouette gave her such hope, but as it coalesced into a billowy object that fluttered gracefully into a pile of soft, supple brown suede, she slammed her fist onto the desk, rattling the cup of coffee on it as well as a number of her personnel at the computer stations that filled out the room.

"Is that a dress?" Val asked Deathbird with clipped words.

"It's a cloak," Deathbird said as she lifted it with a pair of tongs as though it would infect her. "It has a hood."

Val leaned forward with interest. "You don't say?" She reached over and snatched up her coffee cup for a sip. "We're getting closer, at least."

* * *

Logan came to with the sensation that a million maggots writhed upon his skin. He jumped up and swatted his chest and legs and arms and face, only to find nothing there.

Erin giggled girlishly. "My, you are interesting, Mr. Logan, sir."

He grimaced and gave himself a shake, throwing that squirmy sensation off himself. "Where's Carol?"

Erin seemed genuinely taken by the question. "A few blocks that way," she said pointing at the north wall, where, two floors up, she'd knocked herself silly and, "Out and out and out. Last I saw, at least."

He didn't acknowledge her response as he looked over the few agents still fighting the remaining Underground fighters.

"Gemini's been halved," Erin said eerily, as she followed his gaze over to Cristoff and then finally to Niles. "Like Marlee and Maxim. Together, we call them that, Gemini. Niles, alone, is slightly disconnected. He isn't enough."

Logan kicked away a string of plastic trains chug-chuging towards a pair of agents Taurus had just thrown across the room.

Erin leaned on his arm to whisper in his ear, "Imagine what she could have eventually become if Maxim were able to grow up beside her."

Logan shoved her off with a sneer. "We're finishing this, now."

"Already? Really?" Erin asked, pouting. "You really want to?"

He looked at her queerly, a mixed sort of _duh_ and _stop this creepy shit already_ all rolled into one.

"Okay," she said. She skimmed her eyes around the room. As her gaze passed across each of the remaining agents, blood gushed from their wounds like pinprick geysers. Her eyes glittered with more and more amusement as she went.

Logan smacked the back of her head. "Don't kill them!"

She bled one more, then said, "Fine." A soft sigh and they all dropped.

"Erin!" Clarice yelled in alarm. "You didn't!"

"I didn't," Erin said. "Not from this distance, anyways."

Logan watched the chest fail to rise or fall on one agent who was illuminated by the glow of Taurus' wrist gems. "They're not breathing," he accused her.

"Only for as long as I concentrate," Erin said. "Soon as I'm out of range they'll start again. They'll just be unconscious for a while after that."

"Then lets go," Cristoff said, already climbing the stairs.

"Uh-oh," Ely whispered. "The toys, I think they've stopped."

"Marlee!" Taurus rushed up the stairs.

* * *

Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-u-nk-nk-  
nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk-nk!

Thirty-six blades bit into Rogers' armor all around his arms, legs, torso, and head. They pinned him to the fourth floor, framing him. Rogue hovered over him with his first knife, the nine-inch hunter, gripped tightly in her hand.

"You'd best hope Évariste survives just fine," Rogue told him before she stabbed it beside his ear. Using Jean's telepathy, she reached into his mind and, like flipping a switch, flickered him unconscious.

Ching-phoom…thmp.

Rogue dropped and rolled. She reached out telepathically to everyone around her to help her find out which of them got hit. With a sigh of relief, she stood, and watched a chunk of rubble behind her disintegrate in a wash of shimmering light.

Blam, blam! One of the evacuees was returning fire with the stunner ammo—thwump, thwump—and missing.

Ching-phoom…thmp.

She saw Carol's hovering form lower the weapon. She followed the direction she'd fired. By the time she reached the endpoint, she heard Marlee's gasp as Évariste dove over her, taking the hit.

Rogue gripped her belly in wait of the backlash through the fix until every last cell of him had left her sight.

Ching-phoom…thmp.

Marlee had nobody to protect her that time.

Cypher forced his attention away from Marlee's disintegration and back onto his assigned task as he sent another batch through. Four, maybe five more sets remained. If they'd last that long.

Blam! Bl-blam! Now it was two evacuees firing. They bounced right off Carol, who didn't miss a beat.

Ching-phoom…thmp.

An adult, a man Rogue couldn't remember the name of, evaporated right out of his wife and son's arms.

Bl-blam! Bl-bl-am! Five evacuees firing now. Still to no effect.

Ching-phoom…thmp. Ching-phoom…thmp. Ching-phoom…thmp. Carol was on a roll. She wasn't waiting to see the victims effervesce. Ching-phoom…thmp. Ching-phoom…thmp. Ching-phoom…thmp.

Bl-blam! Bl-blam! Bl-blam! Harmless.

Ching-phoom…thmp. Ching-phoom…thmp.

The last one took Suzi, the college student Rogue had freed from the holographic chambers earlier. Suzi got off two angry shots—Blam! Blam!—by the time she split apart, fizzy, and was gone.

Rogue, hollowed and emptied, forgot she should have been bleeding by now. She lashed out at Danvers with the whole of Jean's telekinetic might and threw her from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, back and forth, side to side, up and down, through the second floor, the first, and the basement, cracking the foundation, until Tabitha was there tugging on her arm and begging her…

"Stop, Rogue, stop," Tabitha pleaded. "You'll bring the whole building down on us."

Rogue abruptly yanked Carol to her and dropped her at her feet.

"She's still breathing," Kyle said, amazed.

"Of course she is," Rogue said snottily, "She's nigh-invulnerable." She wiped her eyes, pretending to be getting her hair out of her view. She tugged off one of her gloves. "And soon, I will be."

"Rogue," Cypher said, placating her, as he approached. "This won't bring them back."

She snapped her head to him. "Did I say you could stop the evacuation? There's seven left. Get them out. Now."

Rogue tugged off her other glove and dropped to her knees. "I hope this hurts," She told Carol's unconscious form as she reached—

Logan grabbed her arms. "Rogue, this isn't you."

"Who let you think you knew me?" Rogue spat at him. "You don't even know yourself."

A muscle in his jaw jumped. "I know you promised," he said. "After Jeannie. In the medlab. I heard you. You promised never again."

"But, Maxim and Marlee and Suzi and… and… and Évariste…" she whimpered. She wiped her tears and didn't try to hide it this time. "He… He was… We were…Only two months…" She gripped her belly.

Clarice whispered, "A baby," and sank against Kyle.

"You still are," Erin said in concentration. "She's rather stressed, but she's still ticking in there." She patted Rogue's head lovingly. "And Évariste is still going too." She used Rogue's own hair as a shield to tilt her head to look at her. "Or else you'd be bleeding."

"Then Jemma is…" Niles was unable to actually say it. His hope was too frail.

"I think so," Erin said. She indicated the faint traces of the wounds on Rogue's belly and shoulder. She tried and failed to heal them. She also tried to not let it bruise her ego. She knew their bond worked in the oddest of ways sometimes. "If this is any evidence."

"Then I'll find him," Rogue said as she took the weapon still clenched stubbornly in Carol's hand. "All of them." It was smashed and no longer pulsed forebodingly.

"Not alone, you're not," Cristoff said. He flexed his powers, the emerald shaded psi horns thrusting into existence again. He'd released them in his awe as he'd watched Rogue loose her temper on Carol.

"No, not alone," Rogue said as she tried to access ammo of the utterly vile broken weapon. "Just not with all of you." She continued searching Carol. There were two empty holsters, not one.

"The hell we're not coming," Niles said.

"Erin will join me now," Rogue said as she dug into one of Carol's pockets and retrieved a spare cartridge that looked like it'd fit the broken weapon. "The rest of you will get the evacuees situated. Get yourselves healed and rested. I'll contact you within a day or two."

"Where you gonna go?" Logan asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Rogue quipped. She stood and scanned the area. She held up Carol's broken weapon and asked, "Where's the other one? The first one?"

"Second floor," Ely said. "It went over the edge, remember? I'll go find it."

"Go with him, Tabs" Cristoff said. Tabs, shaken with spent adrenalin, followed obediently.

Rogue eyed Ely with mild suspicion as he trotted for the stairwell. She quickly dispelled it after a scan with Jean's telepathy. He was feeling awkward and wanted something to do. And, he was hoping to figure an excuse to allow him to go with her between there and back.

"What if we need to get a hold of you?" Clarice asked.

"Or Narcisse or Fausse?" Kyle asked, continuing Clarice's logic. "What if they show up and ask for you directly or something?"

"Won't happen," Rogue said with too much surety.

"How do you know?" Niles that time.

They were all ganging up on her now. All except Logan, who was watching her a little too closely for her liking. She wished she had her cloak. She could feel the Lanx creeping over her bit by bit as the adrenalin wound down. She feared for her child.

"Would ya'll stop?" She jabbed a finger at Logan. "He's not one of us, remember?"

"They're all gone," Cypher reported as he returned, and she flinched. "Transported," he amended.

"I really think you should all back off," Erin said, uncharacteristically temperate.

"She ain't that fragile," Logan huffed. "Besides, Rogue, do you really think you could keep me from following? After this? Made a promise, myself, and I mean to keep it."

"You can't all come," Rogue said dejectedly. "I can't hide you all. Not while I'm like this. Not without Évariste…" she bit her lip "…without him nearby."

"We'll evacuate too, then," Niles said, surprising everyone there. "Me, Cristoff, Ely, Tabs, Cypher and Locke, but at least take Clarice and Kyle with you and Erin. You'll be at Magneto's, right? We can contact you there if we have to?"

Rogue gritted her teeth. She was ashamed she was so obvious. "Yeah, I can do that. And Cristoff can come too."

Niles grimaced. With Jean's telepathy Rogue knew he thought she was sending him off as punishment for having the audacity to detect her plan so easily.

She softened her tone when she told him, "It's not that, Niles. You and Jemma are a little like me and—" she stopped herself and blanched because she almost said Narcisse "—Évariste. Two of us all carved up like we are… It's just too risky. I promise I'll include you when I can, though. Okay?"

Reluctantly, Niles agreed. "Okay."

_Ely, Tabs,_ Rogue asked telepathically. _You find it?_

_Yeah_, Ely answered. _Got it. Be right there._

"Cristoff," Rogue said, shoving herself back into leader-mode, "Soon as Ely's back you port them out. Until then, gather some supplies: clothes, weapons, _useful_ things. Don't want to be too much of a burden on Eri—Lord Magneto." _Watch it, girl_, she warned herself. "Two minutes, and we're heading out."

"Burden," Logan scoffed when the others scattered for their things. "You don't think ol' metal-head will be dancing a jig when you come knockin'?"

"Shut up, Wolf-man," Rogue said darkly, but tiredly. The trauma of the day and the distance of the fix were taking their toll, and rapidly. "It's not like that."

Logan shrugged. "And it's _not_ like he ain't trying."

"And what about the Cajun?" She countered. "Yeah, I read that much off ya too. I know he'll be there. Itchy fingers and all."

Logan suddenly laughed. "I wonder if the place is still standing."

"That's not funny," she said, trying not to laugh as well.

"I know," he said, the chuckles still rolling out of him. "And yet it is."

"Shut up," she said, cooling herself, "There's kids here."

"I'm not a kid," Ely said as he and Tabs joined them. "I'm fifteen."

Logan laughed all the harder. Rogue did too.

"What's so funny?" Ely asked.

"Nothing," Rogue said as she took the other gun from Ely. It was banged up, just not as extensively as the one she'd pried from Danvers. She looked to Tabitha. "What ya got there?"

Tabitha was examining a digital thingamajig, like a miniature computer. Its short straps were interlocked and dangling, like a wristwatch whose band had snapped.

"I don't know," Tabitha admitted and handed it to Rogue. "Got it off one of the agents. Maybe it could help you track them or something."

"Good thinking," Rogue told her and reached to pat Tabitha's shoulder. Tabitha's mostly bare shoulder. She stopped herself with a startled jerk. She didn't have her gloves on. _That's three slips_, she chastised herself. She retrieved her gloves from beside Carol's still unconscious form just as the others were returning.

"All set," Clarice announced, out of breath. She was the last to arrive and had the biggest bag.

Kyle raised a teasing eyebrow at her.

"I bet it's more necessary stuff than what you brought," Clarice teased him back. "Did you go anywhere other than the kitchen and your jewelry box?" She flicked one of his ear piercings to make her point.

He nipped at her fingers playfully.

"Let's load up," Cristoff said, ushering them towards the portals.

"Cypher," Rogue said as she caught his sleeve. "I'm…" She fought for the words to encompass something so large. Finally, she sighed and settled for, "…Sorry. You know, about before."

"I know," Cypher said with a sad sigh. "You really think they're alive?"

"Yeah," Rogue reassured him. She didn't need Jean's telepathy to know that using the strange weapon on the agent had really upset him. "I am."

He stepped into the cylinder and she halted him once more.

"Take care of them," she said.

"Always," said Doug Ramsey, aka Cypher, and closed it.

Five, four, three, two, one, flash. They were gone, but not yet fully transferred. Rogue waited until the seven count completed as well before they left… three, two, one.

Safe.

* * *

_We're coming up the back._

Magneto couldn't stop the twitch of his lips, the slightest glimmer of wry amusement, as he sent Rogue his thoughts in reply, _I can't wait._

"What's so funny?" Mystique-Rogue asked.

"Oh, you'll see," Magneto said. "Any moment now…"

The silence lingered painfully as she and Remy both measured Magneto's sudden change.

"I think not," Mystique-Rogue said, breaking the awkward moment. She rose from where she sat, a visitor's chair backed up against the wall, right at the edge of the long bank of windows.

"Tired of my company already, chère?" Gambit asked.

"What company?" Mystique-Rogue snapped. She looked pointedly at Magneto. "For all our big talk, we've told each other nothing. You're wasting my time, and if what all-bang-and-no-follow-through over here said has any truth, I've got to go warn the Underground."

"You're absolutely right," Gambit said as he pocketed his cards. He'd been oh-so-nonchalantly shuffling them ever since Magneto grudgingly invited him to take the other visitor's chair for himself shortly after he'd announced that Val had a less than savory interest in the Underground. "T'ing is, why now? Why not run right off when I first mentioned it?"

Mystique-Rogue jerked her head up indignantly. "That's not your concern."

"Better yet," Gambit asked as if she'd not spoken, "Why didn't you just steal de trut' of it from my thoughts?" A cocksure grin slid into place. "I'd have volunteered for a _feel_ or two."

"You pissant little bug," Mystique-Rogue hissed. "Like I'd want your slimy _anythings_ crawlin' anywhere near me."

Mystique-Rogue stalked for the door—

"Not de impression y' gave me before," Gambit drawled. He enjoyed toying with this fake. At least, he was almost certain she was a fake. Rogue's body, face, mannerisms, and tickle of an accent were expertly duplicated, far as he could tell, but she didn't exude any of the same emotions he'd lapped up with his empathy at every previous encounter.

—and whipped it open to a small crowd of worse-for-wear people.

"And what kind of impression did I give ya?" Rogue, the real Rogue, asked from around Taurus' mutant enhanced bulk. Her voice was labored, and a little scratchy. The Lanx had progressed significantly again.

"Not de kind dat suggested y' had a twin," Gambit readily supplied. His grin flashed in place right behind it. "Not dat Remy mind, n'est-ce pas?" He winked.

Rogue scoffed, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "Keep it in your pants, swamp rat."

Taurus lumbered his bulk through the door. Rogue, supported by Logan and Kyle, entered next. Erin and Clarice followed right after. Erin, deep in concentration, kept her hands raised, palms outward at Rogue's back as if she was holding Rogue's aura together. Clarice took the rear. She was alert, eyes sweeping for signs of threat, and had a teleportation field bolt drawn in the bow to fire on instinct's first cue.

Though they all were battered and tattered, it was for Rogue that Erik, Mystique, and Gambit reacted. Other than Logan, they didn't know who the rest of Rogue's entourage was.

Gambit seemed to be the first to find his tongue. "I could say de same of you." He whistled long and slow, and it wasn't flirtatious. "Don't take dis de wrong way, chère, but you're turning me off de whole twin t'ing."

She was without her cloak. Her clothing, like that of most of her group, was comprised of casual wear. Baggy cargo pants bared her calves and sockless ankles down to her sneakers. A purple long-sleeved cotton tee shirt clung to her curves yet managed to not fit tightly. It seemed alien to Remy, Erik and Raven for Rogue to be without the familiar robin-hood-esque flair let alone a scrap of suede. It was enough to prolong their notice of the tears in her clothes: two over her belly and one at her shoulder. Each tear was bloodless, gaping and had wiry fingers of Lanx wiggling out of them to probe the air.

Rogue neatly ignored Gambit's commentary. She flicked her eyes to her doppelganger. "I'm glad you're here, Mystique, since it's saving me the phone call, but I can't say I'm happy at your choice of fashion."

Without a word, Mystique shifted back into her traditional blue shape. The white hooded sweater and jeans remained.

"Now I'm really off de twin t'ing," Remy said, still lacking the flirtatious tone the words suggested. Bluntly, he added, "You can have dis one, Mags. She be a little skuzzy and antique for Remy."

Mystique probably would have had a proper scathing remark or violent gesture if she hadn't been so shocked by her almost-daughter's condition. She was apparently stunned into silence, while Gambit was startled into a loop of jibes, and Magneto into... himself. He resembled that which his power manipulated: all metal. He stood rigidly erect, eyes steely, jaw welded shut. When Rogue looked at him, he didn't even blink. Apparently, she hadn't given him a shred of warning to the state of her appearance when she announced herself only minutes before.

"Can you put us up for a while?" Rogue asked him without further preamble.

Magneto nodded. The gesture was sparse. Down. Up. Nothing more. She almost expected to hear the squeak of metal rusted from disuse the motion had been so regimental. She actually flinched when he spoke.

"Just the five of you or Logan too?"

"That's up to him," she scratched out. "I can't speak for him."

"I'm staying," Logan stated, implying _for now_. "I gotta contact the X-Men though. Warn 'em of the potential backlash for my involvement."

Magneto repeated that stiff, stunted nod. Down. Up. Direct. Acknowledgement. Then he must have used his powers to press some button to activate the intercom because it squawked to life despite the lack of any further motion. "Amelia," he said, "Prepare six rooms."

"Right away," Amelia answered matter-of-factly. To the room's inhabitants it made her seem distant and removed, as if in another world.

"Away from any telepaths," he told her in afterthought, and the intercom magically squawked off. He swallowed audibly before he asked Rogue, "Where's Évariste?"

Gambit perked up at that. Mostly because Rogue smoothly ignored it.

"We'll need privacy for a while," Rogue told Magneto instead. "But, when I'm ready, I need to track down the rest of the Messenger contacts, determine their loyalties."

Magneto did that minimized nod again. Then he asked, "And Évariste?"

"I also want to set up something with Tessa and Forge," Rogue continued in avoidance.

Mystique inhaled sharply. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly," Rogue said. "Val is going to pay."

Mystique glowered at Gambit, threatening, "If you had anything to do with this, whatever it is, you will not leave this place alive."

"What about Logan," Gambit asked. It was childish, he knew, but for lack of innuendo… "He sent me here."

"Erik can have him," Mystique said, mocking his earlier diatribe. "He's a bit mangy and rabid for my tastes."

"Rogue," Magneto said louder. Irritation peeled away some of his steely veneer. "Why is your _husband_ not with you?"

Rogue whipped a venomous glare to him. Gambit tried to pick out the shape of a ring under her gloves, and failed. He scowled.

Magneto's expression softened. He was just a man, after all. Almost pleading, he said, "Tell me."

"Évariste is…" Rogue's voice cracked. She bit her lip until she had control again. "Val and Danvers' got him and a lot of others. The rest were evacuated. We're the only ones left on the outside."

* * *

_See you next chapter!_

Post June 2008.


	8. Chapter 8 Biscuit

**Disclaimer: **I give up. Marvel can keep the X-Men, but they can't have mine! -hugs them to me-

So much for a shorter chapter this time… 27 pages single-spaced. 10, 745 words.

**Chapter Eight**

_I'm lost, exposed  
Stranger things will come your way  
It's just I'm scared  
Got hurt a long time ago  
I can't make myself heard  
No matter how hard I scream_

_Oh, sensation  
Sin, slave of sensation_

_Full fed yet I still hunger  
Torn inside  
Haunted I tell myself, yet I still wander  
Down, inside, it's tearing me apart_

_Oh, sensation  
Sin, slave of sensation_

_At last, relief  
A mother's son has left me sheer  
The shores I seek  
Are crimson tastes divine  
I can't make myself heard,  
No matter how hard I scream_

_Oh, sensation  
Sin, slave of sensation  
_

_("Biscuit," __Portishead__)_

-

A rip in the fabric of reality brought with it a wash of an alien breeze. Lila Cheney dropped out of the rift, landing nearly atop the blinking beacon, and quickly sealed the it behind her. She was in the third floor transporter room of the Elysium building and it was empty. She kicked the beacon to shut it off and called out, "Doug! Locke! You there?"

No answer, so she ventured up the narrow steps that emptied out of a cabinet and into the nursery on the fourth floor. She got tangled almost immediately in some…thing, a dangling light fixture, perhaps, and fell onto what felt like a mechanical toy. She picked it up, held it aloft to catch the city-lights that blearily penetrated the moldy darkness, and found it to be a foot tall robotic doll. More than that, she couldn't tell in the weak and distant light.

"Stupid kids," she muttered and tossed it aside.

She stood and naturally reached for the wall, for the light switch that could potentially be located there. It was, and yet, when she flicked it, nothing happened.

"Doug! Locke! It's Lila! Anybody here?"

She half-blindly wandered into the main hall through a hole in the wall and out into the oversized pre-school area. More windows permitted the seepage of more of the distant lights from the street and nearby buildings, thereby mutedly illuminating the obvious destruction.

"Oh," Lila said and cringed. "I guess not."

There wasn't a body in sight.

* * *

Max and Marlee cried as they stretched their little arms through the bars of their individual cells in a feeble attempt to reach each other. They wiggled their littler fingers as if those minute motions granted them the necessary distance to magically span the two feet remaining between them.

"Max," Évariste whispered with a relieved smile. Light leeched away, taking his view of them with it. He was so glad that Max was alive that he didn't even mind lying in a cooling puddle of his own blood. Uncouth as it was, it paled in comparison.

Voices were calling out all around him. Feet scuffled about frantically. He heard his cell door open and close, and open again. He heard someone ask, "Where's Hank already?" Heard someone else say, "Yes, I said Essex too." Another, "We'll meet them on the Helicarrier." Then another, "Just get him stable." And lastly, "I told you we needed a medlab here."

His cheek was on something sticky on the floor. It made a sound like Velcro as his head lolled from the jostling of their working on him. The stickiness went with him onto the gurney. It annoyed him. He hoped Rogue and their bébé—Marieé, he decided as if that made it final—escaped out of Elysium okay.

* * *

"Is this suitable?" Erik asked it as if it were just he and Rogue alone and she wasn't using the support of Logan and Kyle to stay on her feet, wasn't feebly held together by Erin, and protected by Taurus and Blink.

"It will suffice," Rogue said, mocking Magneto with a half-hearted roll of her eyes. She let Logan and Kyle deposit her on the bed even though she had told them telepathically to put her in the chair near the desk with the laptop computer. Continuing to Erik, she intoned dramatically, oozing wry sarcasm, "But only because it's short notice. Next time, I expect several dozen vases of roses, candelabras filled with burning candles, a three hundred year old bottle of wine, platters of delicacies, silk sheets, and a hot tub."

_The last_, she thought idly, _would be kind of nice actually._

"I can have it arranged," Erik said generously. His eyes shone like blue fire. "If you desire it."

"No," she said a little too quickly. His utterance of the word _desire_ made something low in her clench… pleasantly. "This is fine. More than fine."

"Speak for yourself," Kyle piped in. "I'm hungry."

Rogue simpered. "A hot meal would be appreciated. If it's not too much trouble."

"It will be my pleasure," Erik said, too melodically for her comfort.

"Cristoff, go with him," Rogue said, obviously excusing Erik from her borrowed quarters. "Don't let him go overboard."

Erik worked his jaw. He was annoyed at her trite dismissal. It was his province, after all. However, he was willing to concede her this small matter for now, in consideration for her current state. "I will see you after you have rested," he told her. He started to leave, but turned back and added, "Privately."

She nodded. It wasn't like it would be the first time. No reason she couldn't handle it any worse than she usually did. Not that it went all that particularly well, typically.

"Breakfast, then," Erik confirmed in that penetrating tone that touched places words alone shouldn't be able to touch.

"Your office at seven it is, then." She said, forcing the professionalism.

He smiled. Eyes still shining like blue fire. "Wherever you prefer."

* * *

"Don't you have some place you need to go?" Gambit asked Mystique coolly. "Maybe some spies and terrorists to shuffle to an' fro?"

They had been left in Magneto's office. Amelia was at the secretary's desk just outside. She may have been giving the appearance of making arrangements and beginning inquiries and such, but they knew she was really guarding them. A high honor, considering she was one of his three top aides and arguably his most favored. He must not have trusted them at all.

"I run a province of my own," Mystique corrected him, "Much like this one, only more focused, more specialized."

"Dat your way of admitting dat Mags' is bigger?"

"Mine's still bigger than yours," she said.

"Should hope so, seeing as Remy is just one man."

She crooked an eyebrow up in genuine interest. "So the X-Men don't want you either."

Gambit gave a half-laugh. "Try as y' might to emasculate me, I'll be going to bed tonight wit'out my tail between my legs."

She traced the handle of a knife, sheathed and tucked in a strap on her waist under the white hooded sweater. "I could make you an honest man."

"Already told you, chère, you're too skuzzy and—"

"And you're infuriating," she snapped and pouted. He was ruining all of her perfectly good threats. She crossed her arms and her legs, right over left, the actions twisting her shoulders slightly away from him. "Go home and leave Rogue alone."

"What makes you t'ink I'm here for Rogue?"

Mystique scoffed. Turning his words against him, she said, "Like you don't want to go to bed with your tail between _her_ legs."

"It'd probably be le bon temps, I'm sure, but it's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?"

He countered, "You first." It was exactly the tactic he'd used to stall them before Rogue and her entourage arrived.

Unlike earlier, Mystique answered. "I _am_ here for Rogue."

"I don't t'ink she swing dat way." He cocked his head to the side, rueful. "But den again, you probably de only woman she could send home with blue balls."

Mystique laughed, and it was mocking. "You know what they say about people who make incessant innuendoes and sex jokes." She paused for emphasis then bluntly stated, "They aren't getting any."

He gripped his heart. "You wound me, chère." And laughed mockingly.

Truthfully he hadn't secured much romance lately. He hadn't been able to find enough of a thrill in the chase and thus, he'd become… He'd lost interest enough to seek out other indulgences: liquor, poker, and thieving. Well, practicing thieving. He hadn't decided on a good mark yet. He sighed heavily and became marginally serious.

"It's about Rogue, oui," Remy admitted, "But not like you t'ink."

"By all means, enlighten me."

"I'm bored."

"Well, that changes everything," she said mockingly. "Go ahead, take her tonight and discard her in the morning. Or better yet, pursue her for months, sate your urges for the game, then move on to a new challenge, leaving her desolate, confused, and depressed. You have my permission now." She sat up and squarely faced him. "Give me a break. Do you think that wasn't already obvious to everyone?"

Gambit shook his head, had been shaking his head since she began her sardonic rant. "Non, non, non. You got it all wrong. I miss de risks of getting caught. Of standing against enormous odds. Of making a difference. T'ievin' doesn't even really live up to it anymore. Just ain't not'ing else dat spicy."

"You miss the war," she said in understanding, though not approval.

"I don't miss all de death an' destruction," he spat defensively.

She relaxed, relieved. Slowly, she lifted a wry brow at him.

"Okay, fine," Gambit said with a mischievous grin. "I do like to blow t'ings up."

"And…?"

Gambit chuckled. "And de pursuit of a woman dat's actually hard to get, not just pretendin' for her end of de game." He held up a hand. "Mais, only in dire circumstances and wit' de most inappropriate timing."

She spread her arms, indicating the current situation.

"Dis ain't dire," he said. He sat back in his chair, jutted out a leg, and crossed his arms, looking all the world like he just laid down all four aces. "De battle at Homestake, South Dakota, now dat was dire."

"Yeah," Mystique said, half-amused, half-sad, as she was caught up in a reverie of the incident of her own. She had followed a lead, bad as it was, to Homestake in search of Rogue, the girl she regretted sending to the X-Men as soon as she had met her so many years before. Irene's last wish was that Raven find her, do right by her.

"Dere was dis girl dere, called herself Foxx," Gambit said and whistled. He sank into the memory. "De whitest skin and hair de color of a blue icee pop. She wore leather and silk and all dese kinky lookin' straps. She twirled dis wicked curved blade dat was only half as sharp as her tongue. All hips and tits and thrust, dat one."

Mystique stiffened. She'd forgotten about that bit of a tryst. The lead had a dual purpose, which was why she had followed it despite its likely falsehood where Rogue was concerned. She had infiltrated a conversion factory, as the Phalanx had called it, where mutants were strategically being integrated into their ranks in an experiment to create more distinction among them without wholly losing the most basic elements of their hive-mind connection. The X-Men had shown up in their usual crashing-the-party way and she'd gotten trapped alone with Gambit after he had the terrible sense to use a charged card to aid the rescue of the captive mutants within the old mine. Eight hours into it, she caved to his seemingly never-ending innuendoes in the hopes that he, like so many other men she'd known, would have been snoring away shortly afterwards, thus, allowing her to contact her people without breaking her cover. That was not how it turned out, of course, but at least they'd passed the last few hours of the cave-in affably enough until the other X-Men finally dug them out.

She drifted out of her reverie to find Gambit eyeing her in a less than happy way.

"Dat wasn't you," he said adamantly. But he could feel the truth of it roiling off her with his empathy. He pouted. "You just ruined one of my fondest memories."

Mystique grinned, fiercely proud. Happy to have the upper hand again, she said, "Guess I'm not too antique for you after all."

"But you're still skuzzy," he said grumpily.

* * *

Before consciousness fully reclaimed him, Évariste heard the telltale sounds of a proper medical facility. Monitors beeped steadily and machines pumped air and regulated fluids with monotonous hushed clicks and hisses. Sensation followed sound quickly. Stiffness and dull aches in his shoulder and abdomen were swiftly accompanied by the tug of stitches, bandages, and tape atop them. Wires and thin tubes tangled his torso, legs, arms, and a finger. A catheter pulled at him with the weight of its tube, which likely led to a bag marked with measurements in milliliters that was hooked on the foot of his bed, he then realized, that currently had his upper body tilted upwards on its remarkably uncomfortable plastic-sheathed mattress. Taste and smell came next. Antiseptic. His mouth was tacky, his breath rank. He wanted a sip of water. Rather, a gallon of it. Filled with ice. No, skip the water, just a bucket of ice chips. Oh, and a breath mint. Sight came with the blinking of his eyes. Everything he already knew was corroborated.

And then he saw the tiny placard glued to the monitor beside him. In neatly engraved block letters it stated, _Property of S.H.I.E.L.D._ He dully wondered if it was also now tattooed to his forehead.

Beyond those things, he tracked the only source of natural light he could detect. It was from a double paned window of pressurized design. Its width appeared to measure some ten feet, while its height merely one foot at the most. Through it he saw the pinks and purples of a distant sunrise or sunset; he couldn't tell which. A misty cloud dimmed it.

All in all, he had no way of telling what time of day it was or where that time of day was occurring.

"…six pints of blood blah, blah, blah, but he's stable and improving," he heard a scholarly resonate and rumbly voice say as its owner's padding footsteps approached him. He had made up the blahs to fill in the blanks of what he hadn't understood.

A furry, blue, and rather gorilla-esque cookie-monster of a man entered his view, blocking most of the window behind him.

"Oh, you're awake," the gorilla-cookie-monster said good-naturedly. "That is a marvelous sign of your progress," he read from his clipboard, "Mr. Gavet." _Gave-it._

"Gah-vay," Évariste tried to correct, though it unfortunately sounded more like _guh vuh_.

A quizzical expression furrowed the gorilla-cookie-monster's forehead, upsetting the wire rimmed glasses that were propped atop it, before he abruptly alighted and grabbed a paper cup with a spoon in it from the wheeled, armed tray to the side. Handing it gingerly to Évariste, he suggested, "This should help."

Évariste lifted a single piece of ice, more of a fleck than a chip, and brought it to his lips. It melted on his tongue and he nearly moaned in pleasure. A few more trips of the spoon and he felt he could risk trying to speak again without mangling the sounds too terribly.

"Gah-vay," Évariste repeated, understandably this time.

The furrowing returned.

"Mon nom," he clarified. "C'est mon nom. Ev-uh-reest Gah-vay."

"Oh, your name," gorilla-cookie-monster exclaimed. "For a moment I believed you had brain damage after all." He suddenly cringed, his expression going apologetic. "I'm usually much more tactful." He stuck out his hand in greeting. "I'm Dr. Henry McCoy, your physician. Most people call me Hank. I'm very glad to be able to make your acquaintance. You had me worried I wouldn't have the pleasure for a little while there."

Évariste weakly returned the handshake, though it was more like a quivering of his fingers against the massive blue palm.

"Salut, Monsieur McCoy. It has been my pleasure to be saved."

Hank grinned. It was a pleasant and amiable smile that set Évariste at ease.

Relaxing, Évariste asked, "How is Rogue and Marieé?" He savored another piece of ice. "Marlee, Max, the others. Are they all well?"

Hank's smile dimmed. Évariste held his breath, his heart racing, evident by the monitors' increased beeps, as Hank flipped through the papers on his clipboard.

"I have no record of a Rogue or a Marieé," Hank said. He heard the monitor slow to a more sedate pace and figured that Évariste found that to be a good thing. He almost hated to dispel it with the rest of the news. "Marlee and Max were on Dr. Cooper's transport list. They have been assigned to Dr. Essex."

"But they were uninjured, oui?" Évariste's question lacked guile. He had neither known the name nor picked up on Hank's distaste for the man.

"Not a scratch or a bruise," Hank said. "Essex is a specialist with mutation. He…" Hank searched for an appropriate phrasing that would be accurate without upsetting his patient or revealing more than he was permitted. "…assists their development."

"Ahh," Évariste murmured. "Marlee's manifested just before we were captured."

"Captured?" Hank inquired. "I have been given no indication that any of you are prisoners. You are all allowed to roam the Helicarrier freely."

"Of course," Évariste said mirthlessly, "The Helicarrier. Il est mais un avion surdimensionné de prison." At Hank's resulting quizzical expression, he briefly translated and explained, "A big flying cell. Where are we to flee other than our plummeting deaths?"

Hank didn't necessarily rush to disagree.

* * *

"Stupid Lanx," Rogue grumbled as she threw the digital doohickey Tabitha had retrieved from one of the agents and given her. Tendrils of the biomechanical virus kept snaking from the not-wounds in her abdomen to grab at the device, seeking to infect it. She had to keep pushing the tendrils aside so often it made it difficult to do anything with device.

Taurus was still off rounding up some decent grub while Logan went to contact the X-Men and Erin, Clarice, and Kyle were checking out their rooms, unpacking and freshening up before they met back there for a minor briefing to be reconvened more thoroughly after Rogue indulged Magneto with a private breakfast meeting. Rogue would have liked to be cleaning up herself, a shower sounded downright sinful at that moment, but she hadn't taken the time to pack anything for herself before they left. She considered checking the closet and dresser for something to wear, but was afraid to find them stuffed full, worthy of catering to _any_ occasion, and all exactly in her preferences and _size_. Or even worse, that it held his clothing as well.

_Girl_, she said herself, _I think_ _you played with him too well_.

Tacitly, she mocked herself, _Played, riiiiiiiiiiight_, and swore she tasted ash as she had the thought. Then again, that could have just been a kinked subliminal effect because of the room's furnishings. Every stick of it was made with her favorite wood, stained light, but dusky, as if it were grey veined bone. It was all Ash. She couldn't remember ever mentioning her eye for it in Erik's presence, but she couldn't wholly reconcile it as coincidence either.

She flopped back on the bed, which was too comfortable and too much to her tastes, not to mention too big for one person. The same could be said for the entirety of the room. There was two of almost everything: closets, nightstands, chairs, desks, and dressers. The few exceptions included items that even a couple would only need one of: full length mirror, couch, combination ottoman and coffee table, settee—which could be counted as a double if she considered it a couch as well—entertainment cabinet, the king sized bed and adjoining bathroom. Though, she had her doubts about the bathroom. She hadn't even washed her face and hands yet for fear of finding two sinks, two sets of towels, two tooth brushes, two razors, two hair brushes, two combs, and so on. And of course, worse, that it showed evidence of his recently having used it.

She squeezed her eyes shut against a powerful rush of mourning. She missed Évariste. Ached.

She shoved herself off the bed. If she let herself get too caught up in those feelings, she'd be useless for getting him back. He needed her, for perhaps the first real time since their strange, haunted, and addict-like relationship initially consumed them. She would be damned if she didn't come through for him. For them. For their daughter. _For Marieé_, she thought, as if that decided it. _It's what he'd prefer_. For all of those who'd been victim to that infernal weapon. And finally, for all of the Underground. She was certain that Val would not be too long sated at only having the few members she had, even if Évariste was counted among them. If Fausse and Narcisse evaded Val overmuch, Rogue suspected that other installations would be hit as well.

Stumbling ungracefully in her weakened condition, she bypassed the tall, masculine ash dresser and reminded herself, _Erik might be arrogant and pushy when he wants to be, but __**not**__ that arrogant and pushy_. Still, she didn't open any of its drawers. When she reached the wider, more feminine dresser of the ash set, she was distracted from checking its contents by the beautifully carved details around the edges of its top that managed to be both feminine and masculine. As if to prove its make, ash leaves, ash seeds, and ash berries intricately interwove with each other. The faintest of dyes, impossible to have been detected if not up close, colored each carved element: dark green for the leaves, pale green for the seeds, and red-purple for the berries. She removed a glove and with Lanx marbled fingers she traced the carvings around the dressers' top and then down the rounded corners running the length of its front. A quick glance to its match, and she could easily pick out the same carvings on that one as well.

She savored the feel of the wood, hard but smooth, for a moment longer before she put her glove back on. With a final inner prompt—_It's show time, girl_—she opened the top drawer.

It was gloriously empty. So were the rest of the drawers, which she checked in quick succession.

Smiling with relief and oddly triumphant satisfaction, she went to the phone on the desk. Beside it, a tri-folded self-standing card stated, _dial nine for an outside line_. She laughed, finding it oddly like a hotel, and decided to try dialing zero to reach an operator so she could make her special request.

"Good evening, Rogue," a polite male voice answered.

"You're serious?" Rogue asked rhetorically. She was thoroughly amused that he knew it was her that had called. She couldn't remember having ever stayed at a hotel with service like this in her lifetime. Jean had once, so her absorbed memories told her, on her honeymoon with Scott. It was early on in the war, only a few months before…

"Oh, my apologies, Rogue," the voice stumbled, snapping her out of her reverie. He must have mistaken her wry amusement for anger. "Whatever is wrong with your suite, I will be more than happy to send someone up to correct right away."

She waved him off as if he could see, and half-laughing at him and, by proxy, Erik, told the operator, "Nothing like that. I'm just needing some—"

_I am so not telling him I need clothes_, she thought in mild embarrassment. _How ridiculous_. But, she needed something to ask for now that she had him on the phone and in a little bit of a panic.

"—extra pillows," she finished lamely.

"Oh," the man responded just as lamely.

Her gaze slid to the bed. She recognized the same patterned carvings in the heavy ash headboard, footboard, and steps to climb up to its high mattress. The duvet was a dark mossy green, made of faux suede, and stuffed with down. She'd noticed that much when Logan and Kyle had helped her onto it when they first entered the suite. The pillows were mostly a perfect synchronization in their color. A couple were darker green, a couple were paler, a couple were a deep red-purple similar to the berries in the carving, and one was a satiny icy blue as brilliantly steely as Erik's eyes. In total, there had to be about a dozen of them artfully arranged at the head of the bed.

Rogue simpered, and was glad the operator was the singular witness to her silliness. "Ya caught me," she said pathetically. "I don't need any more pillows."

"Is it a more personal matter you need solved?" He asked completely professionally. He may have been asking if she wanted cream with her coffee for all the emotion he attached to it.

"Ya could say that," Rogue answered. Her cheeks felt hot. She wasn't used to being so sensitive. _Must be my hormones_, she told herself and fluttered her fingers against her belly. She refused to admit it was the distance and disconnection of the fix. She'd deal with that later, when she inevitably had no choice about it.

"If you'd prefer, you can reach Lord Magneto…"

Rogue rolled her eyes. Sure she used the title for discretion, but it still struck her funny that people used it seriously, especially him. She tried to imagine him telling people to call him that.

"Mister Magneto," Someone must have said at some point.

"_Lord_ Magneto," Erik must have corrected.

"Oh, okay, lord Magneto, then," the Someone would say while barely keeping a straight face.

"No," Magneto would have said. His temper would have ignited this time as well, most likely. With eyes flashing like sparks from a flint, he'd correct, "_Lord_ Magneto. Capital L not little l."

"Like _the_ Lord? Like… _God_?" Someone would have questioned. "Not the kind that simply runs a territory."

"Do I look like I _simply_ run a territory?" Magneto would counter thunderously. "I am certainly not God, but that's why it's _Lord Magneto_ not just _Lord_." Puffing up his chest, he'd remind that Someone, "I am the _Master_ of _Magnetism_. I played an integral role in defeating both the Technarch and the Phalanx. I deserve a capital L."

Rogue had herself nearly doubled over in a fit of giggles from her imagined scenario when she realized the polite operator had just repeated her name and was doing so a third time.

"Rogue…"

"I'm here," she said as the giggles tapered off. "Don't get your panties in a bunch."

"Are you alright, Rogue?" The operator asked.

"I won't be if ya keep saying my name every time ya talk," she snapped irrationally. Childishly, she added, "Are ya trying to wear it out?"

"Perhaps I should send a doctor to see you," the operator said nervously. His professional façade was cracking under the pressure of his leader's most favored guest—as Amelia had specifically titled her—having an emotional attack on the line. "Or Lord Magneto, himself, if you would prefer. I can contact him for you or, like I just explained, you can reach him directly by dialing one."

"One?" Rogue asked with obvious disdain. "Like he's _number one_ around here. Are you kidding me?"

Something dripped onto the desk.

"Now there's a leak?!" She exclaimed angrily into the phone.

She climbed up onto the chair and checked the ceiling above her. It was pristine. In fact, it was beautiful. The white tiles were each etched with a fleur-de-lis in silver. She wished she had a ladder so she could touch it, feel it. Another drop fell to the desk and she instinctively wiped her cheek of her tears.

_I'm crying?_

She knelt in the chair and touched the tear-dampened fingertip to one of the drops on the desk. Her other hand went to her belly. A tendril of Lanx from one of her not-wounds there grabbed onto her ring finger and squeezed. She jumped, tipping over the chair, and fell onto the plush silvery-grey carpet. It felt like she'd fallen several stories onto concrete. The impact reverberated all the way through her.

She gasped. "Never mind," she hurriedly said and hung up on him. She dialed one, and before it completed its first full ring, it connected.

"Yes?" Magneto's sure and stately voice.

She was surprised he didn't know it was she who called like the operator had known.

"Erik," she breathed and was startled by the terror and despair in her voice. She forced her voice to steady itself, to cheer up for the request. "I need clothes."

"A simple enough task," he said. "Anything else?" It sounded like he wanted her to ask for more.

"No, just clothes."

"I will bring something appropriate when we return."

She hung up and sighed. A bright smile crinkled the tear-dampened corners of her eyes.

"Mission complete," she said proudly to the empty room. "Now for a shower. I'm filthy."

She got a luxuriously thick floor-length men's red-purple robe off the hook on the back of the closet door and went into the bathroom.

She failed to notice the abundance of clothing in the closet. She also failed to spot the few white whisker shavings in the crevice of the drain of one of the two stainless steel sinks set into the pale moss colored granite counter top.

* * *

Hank waved his hands in front of Évariste's face without response. His eyes were glassy and he stared blankly, as if in a trance. Up until about three seconds ago, they were having a conversation about when he could have visitors, specifically the company of some of his people, which Hank had found to be an odd way to say _his friends_, when, in the middle of a sentence, Évariste merely closed his mouth and stopped. He stopped talking, he stopped blinking, and now, if the monitors were correct, he'd stopped breathing.

Hank slammed the alert button and began resuscitating Évariste a split second after the heart monitor blared that his heart had stopped beating as well.

Nurses and doctors were rushing in to help him just as he was about to zap Évariste with the paddles. A nurse darted her arm in front of Hank's face to stop him and he spun a horrified look to her.

"Look," she said as she pointed to the monitors. It showed that Évariste was breathing steadily. His heartbeat was regular as well.

Hank had no idea when it had restarted. He replaced the paddles onto the mobile rack and caught his breath. "Thank you," he told the nurse.

"—ing at the same time," Évariste abruptly continued as if he'd never stopped. "But one or two, would that be permissible? Actually, could I have a list of all who are here in the Helicarrier?"

Évariste then noticed all the other assembled medical personnel and looked a question to Hank.

Fumbling for an explanation for Évariste, let alone one for himself, Hank shrugged and said, "You are a high priority patient for many reasons, Mr. Gavet."

A hand landed on Hank's shoulder, followed by the question, "Can you look at this?"

Hank turned to do as the other doctor, an intern named Something Benedict, requested and was once again stunned. He compared the brain waves readout with the timing of the stoppages of Évariste's heart and lungs. Hank sank onto the neighboring, and thankfully empty, bed. "There are two of them. The entire duration of his attack, he had two distinct brain patterns at one time."

"But that's impossible," said Dr. Something Gerald. Hank hadn't properly learned the names of everyone on the roster for the latest round of interns yet.

"No, Kerr," Val said as she crossed to them. "That's improbable." To Évariste, she interrogated, "It's also a product of the extrasensory bond you have with the terrorist named Rogue, is it not? Or should I just call her the Unrecht?"

Most of the nurses and doctors had scattered at Val's entrance, several of them leaving the room. It left her plenty of room to lean in uncomfortably close to Évariste.

"What exactly is it she goes by these days anyways?"

Évariste narrowed his eyes dangerously at her. He didn't answer her, but after a long moment of her face in his face, he turned to Hank and searched his gentle, plaintive, gorilla-cookie-monster features. Trusting Hank to be a positive influence, he made a hasty, but hopefully brilliant decision.

"There are so many nommes des guerres she has favored over the years," Évariste told Hank. "Some she has despised. However, in a few months, she'll be called by one title that eclipses them all. She'll answer to _mother_."

Évariste turned back to Val, who had straightened and frowned. He would've sworn her left eye twitched in fury.

"Make an appointment with her in December, and find out for yourself," Évariste told her slyly. "Actually, let's make it in March. Ma mignonne will need a few months to situate herself with her first born."

"I'll see the proof of it in a week," Val promised. "If she lives that long."

The intern, Dr. Kerr Benedict, gasped. "But Dr. Cooper, you can't use lethal force if the woman is even suspected of being pregnant."

Val glared at him.

"Even you can't bypass that law," Hank said righteously. It was clear it upset him that she even considered it. "President Kelly declared it after his pregnant wife was killed by the Technarch during an interrogation. It passed congress in record time."

"Yeah," Kerr added. He'd gained confidence from Hank's contribution. "You can't even use stunner ammunition because the strain on the endocrine system during pregnancy is too unpredictable."

Val smiled. "If she was pregnant, why didn't she say so back at the Elysium building?"

"She's stubborn like that," Évariste said. "I, however, am not."

"Then when didn't you announce it then?"

"I had no reason to believe she wouldn't be victorious," he said with pride. "She has proven herself very resourceful in battle in recent years."

"I don't believe you," Val insisted. "Every female has used that excuse since he made it. So has every male that was infatuated with a wanted female. I am permitted some discretion as to whether or not I can believe an unsupported claim. If you cannot provide me with at least some semblance of sufficient proof, I will be forced to assume it is merely a ploy of evasion."

Évariste's heart sank. He had no proof other than what the fix told him. He dreaded that he had tipped the scales too soon. Not only had he failed to protect Rogue with the admission, he had also revealed a significant weakness of his and hers. He felt nauseous.

Val grinned triumphantly, but she wasn't done twisting the knife. "And if she survives arrest pregnant, I'll assign her to Dr. Essex's tender care. He'll be thrilled. Hell, he'll be just as thrilled to have their corpses."

Évariste was confused, but Hank glared at Val. Until that moment, Évariste wouldn't have believed that Hank was capable of anything violent or destructive. Right then, however, Évariste knew he would never want to get on Hank's bad side. Whoever this Dr. Essex was, Évariste wanted him very far from Rogue. He didn't want him anywhere near any of the people he cared about.

"He has Marlee?" Évariste asked Hank. "Max?"

Hank's expression lost all of its fierceness, but none of its intensity. He promised, "They will be okay."

Val interrupted the exchange as if she had all the power in the room. "But only if you give me Fausse and Narcisse."

Hank, disliking being included in her vile threat, stabbed another of his vicious glares at her. Maintaining that glare on Val, he repeated intently to Évariste, "The children will be fine."

* * *

Lila was poking around the third floor Infirmary of the Elysium building when she heard movement below. Though she'd have preferred to simply teleport to the source of the noise, she took the more surreptitious route, and tiptoed there via the stairs.

"Stupid kids," Lila grumbled again to herself as she kicked another toy, this one a very out-of-place electronic game system. She smiled with satisfaction as it fell over the edge and down the open center of the stairwell. She cringed when it crashed far below.

She tripped half a dozen more times along the way, successfully warning any lingering foes of her pursuit. In the end, she figured that the racket of light and noise from her tearing through reality would have at least maintained an element of surprise.

* * *

Logan sat on the bed in the sparse room he was loaned and spoke into the phone. Unlike Rogue's suite, his was much less extravagant, but much more comfortable, far as he was concerned. A double bed with a durable oak headboard centered the wall opposite the room's entrance. A matching oak dresser, tall and space-saving, rested against the wall to the right of the bed while paired oak side tables flanked the bed, completing the set. An oak desk, not of the same set, but complimentary in stain color as well as its flat, clean, minimal lines, took residence beside the dresser. A simple black fabric office chair on wheels was tucked under it. The wall to the left of the bed contained the doors to a small bathroom and a walk-in closet that was deeper than it was wide. Logan doubted it would retain its convenience if he were to live here, but seeing as it was only a temporary arrangement, and he didn't have any extra clothes with him anyhow, it would have to do.

Which reminded him, "Ororo, can ya send me over some essentials while you're at it?"

He heard the faint smile and tease in her voice when she answered, "Certainly, though, with the tailors that have been rumored to be at his disposal, I'm sure Magnus could supply you readily enough."

Logan grunted in response. He wondered if he'd set off smoke alarms if he lit a cigar in there. He opened the side table drawer and was surprised to find a polished ashtray in it. Now, if he only had some cheroots on him.

"Check out my bike. It's parked in Central Park." He gave her directions to find it, and then added, "Be wary of tracking devices. The one on my back may not have been alone."

The carpet was a fibrous weave the color of wheat and, he suspected, it would not hide its texture under the feel of bared feet. The walls were a dusky blue-grey. They were adorned with a few photographs of Magneto's province—the skyline at sunrise, a black and white of children infected with Lanx playing in rain puddles, a pencil sketch of the citadel, and a mock-aged map, all yellows and russets, of the current territories. The room was masculine and reserved, probably designed for the assistants of visiting statesmen.

"Do what you can to convince Chuck not to tap Washington for intel," he suggested to Ororo. "They'll be expectin' it, so it won't do any good. Keeping quiet, it seems, stirs 'em up more. If anything seems dicey, though—"

"We have handled such situations previously," Ororo teased. Her tone was light, but retained its otherworldly calm and grace. "Do you think this is connected to the murders?"

Logan shifted back in his chair and thought about it. "Could be, but damned if I can guess how. We'll see."

"I suppose we will," she stated in acceptance. "Thank you for updating us. Stay in touch."

"Will do," He promised before hanging up. To himself, he announced. "I need a shower. And a smoke."

He dialed zero for the operator. A somewhat flustered male voice greeted him personally.

"A pair of sweats and some cigars," Logan told him. To poke at Magneto and, as bonus, Scott, he added, "Bill the X-Men."

His request was on his bed by the time he got out of the shower not five minutes later. He sniffed the air, catching the faint scent of whatever employee dropped it off, and grimaced. Whoever he had been, for his nose revealed the gender to be male, he had done his duty without alerting Logan's enhanced hearing.

He lit a cigar, appreciating the first few pulls of it.

Tugging on the sweats, Logan muttered to himself. "Old bucket-head must be employing damned ninjas now." He was merely irked about it; he didn't really believe it. If it'd been Mystique's province, on the other hand…

* * *

Gambit and Mystique approached Amelia at the secretary's desk at the same time.

"I want a room," Gambit said.

"We both want a room," Mystique corrected.

"Separate rooms," he amended. "With several between them." He cupped his mouth like he was sharing a secret, but spoke loud enough for anyone in the lobby to hear. "I don't trust her. She might rob me of my innocence. See how skuzzy she is?"

Mystique shoved him aside, muttering, "Insufferable oaf." To Amelia she demanded. "I must be near Rogue."

"Impossible," Amelia answered her. "The rooms nearest Lord Magneto's suite are to remain empty. His orders."

"She's staying in his room?" Mystique asked incredulously. "And he's not in traction yet?"

"He's sleeping elsewhere for now."

"Where?" Gambit that time.

"If I told you, I'd be a poor head of his security, wouldn't I?" Amelia rhetorically asked as she waved a blinking rod at each of them. She typed on her computer and then the printer started. "Your rooms are nearby Rogue's entourage, but not each other. It will have to suffice." She grabbed the printouts and handed them over. "Directions to get to them are on here, as well as the operational times of locations of interest: the restaurants, communications centers, and bars." The last was directed to Gambit, who grinned in satisfaction. "If you need anything else, don't come to me. This isn't a resort and I'm not a concierge."

With that, she shut down the computer, packed up her messenger bag, locked Magneto's office, and left.

"Well, that was unpleasant," Mystique said.

"Mmmm-hmmm," Gambit agreed. "Not to mention she forgot to give us our keys."

"I thought you were a thief."

"Oui," he said as he started away. "And don't bother asking. De answer's no."

"Like I can't pick a simple door lock on my own," Mystique muttered blithely.

* * *

Steam puffed out from under the bathroom door. Erin, the first to arrive back to Rogue's suite, banged repeatedly on it, to no avail. Clarice and Kyle, looking a little flushed, showed up next.

Kyle sniffed and reported, "I don't smell blood. Maybe we should just leave her be for now. We can debrief in the morning. What'll change between now and then?"

"I thought you were hungry," Clarice said, leaving the _duh, a lot_, unspoken.

"I'll take it to go."

"You'd do that anyways. You like doggie-bags too much." Clarice teased Kyle. To Erin, she asked, "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Erin said unhappily. "I can't detect much. One moment it feels like I've got a grasp of a system, the next it slips away. She doesn't exactly seem stable though. If anything, I think I should wait until she gets out at least. Better that, than be woken up in an hour because stud-geezer's in a tizzy after finding her in a coma or something."

"You noticed too?" Clarice asked, girlishly scintillated.

"Yeah, it was gross," Erin said. "He's too old to have a crush on her like that."

Clarice shrugged. "I can see the appeal. She's been his messenger for years. And he does have that whole I-am-leader, I-don't-do-chores thing going on. Évariste has that quality too sometimes."

"Do you think she's interested?"

"Maybe," Clarice said, considering. She quirked a sly smile. "He looks like he's in decent shape."

"What are you two hearts-for-brains going on about?" Kyle asked.

"Of course _you_ didn't notice," Clarice said. "You're a guy."

"I know Gambit noticed," Erin gossiped. "Big time. And he doesn't like it one bit."

"Logan too," Clarice added, "Not that he really seems to care about it. Still, nothing much seems to get past him."

"Enhanced senses," Erin said.

"I have enhanced senses," Kyle said defensively.

"But you're a guy."

"Logan's a guy."

"Logan's a professional."

"And don't you forget it," Logan said from the opened doorway. He was puffing the stub of his cigar.

Clarice and Kyle hadn't closed the door when they entered. Kyle figured the food would get to his stomach faster that way.

Logan tread the rest of the way to them. His ear was trained towards the bathroom door. "What's that she singing?"

Clarice put her ear to the door. "Sounds like _You are My Sunshine_, but with different words." She caught the melody and followed along with Rogue, more talking than singing, "You are my rain drops, my only rain drops. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my rain drops away."

"Girls are weird," Kyle said. His nose lifted and tilted towards the door.

"And you aren't?" Logan said with a harsh flick of Kyle's nose ring. When the girls giggled, he turned on them. "And don't gossip about your… whatever she is to you. Show some respect."

"You do know you don't have any authority over us," Erin huffed.

"But I do," Taurus said as he pushed in a cart of covered food trays. It was what had attracted Kyle's nose to lift only moments before. Taurus pulled a second cart in behind him. "And I agree with Logan."

"As do I," Magneto said as he entered behind Taurus. "And you are here only on my sufferance."

Magneto also had two carts of food, however, he didn't have to touch them to propel them into the room. The same went for the metal clothes hanger, its contents zipped up in a dark plastic bag, that trailed in last as though carried by an invisible ghost. It roved to the bed and lay atop it.

Kyle licked his lips. "That smells incredible."

"Is she… singing?" Erik asked as Kyle snatched up one of the trays that included a thick cut of steak.

"I'm worried about her," Erin said. "She feels… off… to me. More so than before. I shouldn't have left her alone."

"She _smells_ off, too," Logan said as he sniffed at the steam coming out from under the bathroom door. "Way too much of a metallic tang."

"I concur," Magneto agreed.

Logan waved his hand through the room. "The air's heavy in here, dense. How long has she been in there?"

Nobody answered at first, but then…

"She called me almost half an hour ago," Erik admitted. "She seemed stressed, but she only asked for some clothes." He gestured to the garment bag he'd deposited on the bed as proof. "She sounded fine by the time she hung up."

What Erik didn't say was that he had hoped she would call back, would request his comfort.

"I've been banging on this door for at least ten minutes," Erin added. "There was already a lot of steam coming out when I got here."

"Should we go in?" Clarice asked uncertainly.

Erik didn't wait for anyone to answer. Nor did he supply a verbal one himself. He simply unlocked the door magnetically and strolled inside.

"Okay, I see what you mean," Clarice told Erin. "Gross."

"And rude."

"Shut your traps," Logan told the girls as he followed Erik into the bathroom.

* * *

Hank was quiet for a while after Val left in a haughty, self-satisfied huff. He'd been studying the latest batch of test results and comparing them to Évariste's brain wave monitors.

"Why did you think I had brain damage," Évariste asked.

Évariste was uncomfortable with the silence. It made it too easy for him to worry about Rogue, Marieé, Max, Marlee, the other captives, Rogue, Marieé, their home, the other installations, the evacuees, and Rogue and Marieé… He needed a distraction to help him stay focused. He needed to get them out of there. He needed to check on Rogue and Marieé.

Hank lifted his attention from his paperwork, and then he lifted his spectacles off his nose. "You have some very odd synaptic patterns that gave me reason for concern. They leveled out, and you are obviously coherent, so I'm not going to rush you for an MRI or a CATscan, though I would like to get those eventually. Time and circumstance permitting, of course."

"It showed two distinct patterns, vraiment?" Évariste asked. When Hank nodded, he continued, "And at times, there was only one, or none, but alternating, as if your monitors were being switched between two people?"

Hank sat up straighter. "Exactly like that. Do you know why?"

Évariste shrugged, much as the wires, tubes, and shoulder dressing allowed him too, and said, "Oui. Like Val said. It is the fix."

"What is that?"

Évariste dipped his head and looked away. "My apologies, Dr. McCoy. You seem adequately friendly, but I do not trust you well enough to explain it to your satisfaction, so why start what I will not finish?"

"Not even if it could mean your life?"

Évariste just did that gallant half-shrug again.

"Could it mean Rogue's life? Her child's? It is yours, I presume."

"What will it be saving us if Val and SHIELD have it to use against us at their leisure?"

Hank ambled closer. Whispering, he asked, "What if I did not tell them?"

"And why would you do that?"

Hank opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He took a moment to ponder it, then at last, sighed, and told him. "I have no reason that you would believe simply by my saying it."

Évariste did look back to him then. He measured him with his powers, much as he could in the state he was in, and decided, "I'll let you know when such would be sufficient. Fair?"

"Fair," Hank replied, satisfied. In truth, Hank wouldn't have totally trusted any details Évariste would have given him had he given them that easily after all.

"There is one thing I will tell you now," Évariste said. "You'll figure this out on your own eventually anyway, so I might as well, as I've heard Americans say, nip it in the bud. My condition will degrade the longer I am here, and there isn't much you can do to change that."

"Well," Hank said with a cheerful grin, "I'll just have to prove you wrong."

* * *

Gambit stood two feet back from his door and examined it with a keen eye.

"There's no lock," He said in disbelief.

* * *

Mystique had just made the similar discovery. However, unlike Gambit she was not surprised by the arrogance of men with power. Perhaps Magneto did not have locks on visitor's quarters so they could not hide things from him. Perhaps he simply felt that it was his place and therefore he should be able to enter without even the minutest delay. Because of these conjectures, she did not hesitate to simply reach for the doorknob. As soon as her hand touched it, she felt the smallest of pulses, causing her to pause.

A soft click followed, but no alarm, and no other sign of foul play. She entered the room. After closing the door, she reached instinctively for the light switch and found much more of a complicated pad there than she had expected. She shifted her eyes to allow for night vision capability and examined the panel in the dark.

"Hmm," she mused aloud. She remembered the rod Amelia had waved over them before giving them their room assignments. "Magnetic signature locks. How quaintly appropriate."

She flicked on the lights and groaned. All the furnishings were made of metal.

"I stand corrected," she told the empty room, "How quaintly typical."

* * *

"I got her," proudly announced Jessie Carter, Val's Chief Communications officer.

"You actually recorded her using the public phone system?" Val asked skeptically.

"Well, not her exactly," Jessie said, deflating. "It was Wolverine. You'd think he'd have known better. But there he was. I traced it from Xavier's. He called from Magneto's Province. Rogue's there, I'm sure of it."

"Magneto's, huh?" Val asked, not expecting a reply, but getting one anyways.

"Directly from his capitol building."

Val flicked an annoyed glance to the girl, but soon returned to her ruminating. "He is one of the Underground's seven councils, though intel hadn't suggested there was exceeding trust for him over the others." She tapped her fingernails on the back of Jessie's chair. "I'll have to have a talk with that informant."

"Should I alert Colonel Fury?" Jessie asked.

"No need for that," Val said. "I'll discuss it with him myself if need be."

"You aren't sending out a team for her?"

"Not yet," Val said with a self-satisfied grin. "We know where she is now. I'm going to let her get comfortable first. Feel safe. Give herself room to drown herself."

"You think she'll come here?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it," Val stated with the utmost of confidence.

* * *

"Ohhhh, mah gawwwwwwd," Rogue moaned into the water. "This feels sooooo goooood." She spun around and splashed the cascade. "Yes, I'm talking to you, you hot drippy drops." She broke into song again, "You are my rain drops, my only rain drops…"

Logan was finding it hard to remember that this started out as a serious dilemma. He also had to chew his cheek to keep from chuckling out loud.

Magneto, however, found no humor in the situation. He used his powers to twist the shower knob and shut off the flow of water.

"Awwwww," Rogue whined.

Her silhouette, faintly visible through the gauzy icy blue and bronzy brown striped shower curtain, showed her bending over and turning the knobs.

"What the hell?" Thick as molasses.

Well, she tried to turn the knobs. She resorted to Jean's telekinesis to help her, and wound up in a minor battle of wills against Erik's magnetic control of the metal knobs. As frustrated as Rogue got in the little war, she seemed to enjoy it.

"Think you can beat me, do you," she shouted at it. "I'll show you. I'll rip you out of the danged wall if I have to. Give me back my water!"

As strong as Jean's telekinesis was, it could not best Erik's magneto prowess on the metal knobs. Determined not to lose, she braced her feet against the edge of the tub and pulled with all her might.

Erik looked back at Logan. There was no strain in his expression. "I'm not exerting enough effort to warrant _that_."

Rogue jerked at the sound of his voice and slipped into the tub with a minor curse. She curled low in the draining water and huddled, ready to strike out. "Who's there?"

"Rogue," Erik began in a soothing tone such as one might on the hysterical. "It's Erik and Logan."

She stood and peaked around the edge of the shower curtain. "This room sucks! It's run out of water!"

The curtain hid everything other than her face, a section of her neck and left shoulder and the hand holding the edge of the curtain for privacy. All of it was coated in Lanx. Well, nearly. Her left ear, a small area of skin surrounding it, her eyes, and her lips were unaffected. There were strands of it even running through most of her wet hair.

Instantly upset by the view, Erik whipped the curtain out of her grasp, throwing it wide open.

"Erik!" Rogue gasped and covered herself with her hands. She levitated the robe over to her, but not before they got a good look.

Other than a few small perfect patches of pale skin, she was entirely covered in the biomechanical virus. The tendrils poking out of her not-wounds were not even simply like fingers, but fists. Additional thready strands of the Lanx stretched from her hair and elbows and hips and toes to scrabble at the tiles, the tub, the drain, the knobs, the soap holder, the safety bar, the ceiling, and the showerhead as if seeking new flesh or machines to infect. There was so much of the Lanx on her and around her she may as well have been fully clothed.

Erik pointed at Erin and demanded, "Fix this."

Erin loped between them for a look. She stretched her hands as close as she would dare and sought out the exact status of the virus and Rogue's immune system. She exerted great effort against the former and towards the latter. Slowly, the Lanx strands began to shrink back into Rogue, some even retracted from her hair altogether, but then Erin gasped and they shot back out. She tried again, to no effect. Shocked at her own inability to heal Rogue, she gulped and told them, "I can't. It's too much. I can't get past the stunted fix enough."

Erik clenched his jaw, lifted his hand as if it helped him focus and fine tune his powers, and pulled on the Lanx, pushed at it. Again, the tendrils shrank back into her. The uninfected patches even enlarged. But the cost was enormous. Not only did take obvious effort on Erik's part, which he had expected or else he'd have removed the disease from every last resident in his province, but it caused Rogue colossal pain.

Rogue screamed.

"Stop it!" Logan demanded Magneto. It was pointedly followed by a familiar _snikt_ of his claws popping out.

Erik narrowed his eyes on him, but he did ease up with his powers. The Lanx held where he'd retracted it to, but did not shrink away any further. Rogue leaned hard against the tiled wall of the shower. No longer screaming, she whimpered between short, rapid breaths, signaling the oncoming of shock.

"What do you propose to do," Erik asked Logan angrily. "Cut it off her? There'd be nothing left of her."

"No," Logan said. His claws slid back inside his skin as he reached out to her, to that small, uninfected patch surrounding her left ear. It had expanded to free most of her cheek, jaw, and temple under Erik's influence. Continuing, Logan told him, "I'm gonna give her the means to heal herself."

Erik watched closely as Logan's fingers made contact with that bared flesh. Her powers activated instantly, soliciting a gasp and wide eyes from Rogue and a pained and drowning expression from Logan. As the empty flesh grew larger, Logan gritted his teeth and pressed his palm against it.

Erik shifted, his hand swinging over a foot and darting closer to Rogue's other cheek. He focused his power there, forcing a clear area there as well, and Rogue wrenched a pained, confused, and almost hurt stab of her gaze to him for it.

Erik curtly ignored it. He grabbed Logan's other hand and shoved it against Rogue's newly bared flesh so that Logan had a palm flat to each side of her face.

Logan sagged, and Taurus was there to catch him. Erin, squeezed between them and the counter, struggled to track both Rogue and Logan's conditions. She used her own powers to help boost the process where she could.

It went quickly. Taurus yanked Logan back from Rogue not too long before all the Lanx had melted away.

"She's not done," Erik snapped viciously at him.

"He can't cure her," Cristoff replied moderately. "We've tried it before."

Kyle raised his hand as if it'd make them turn back to notice him. "Not we," he said. "Me. I've tried it before. Knocked me out for almost a month too."

Clarice rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. He picked the strangest moments to worry about getting his credit. Still, she'd squeezed his hand. She'd been so worried about him during those weeks he was unconscious. She'd also been so proud of the rare moment of selflessness he'd showed in doing it. Well, sort of selfless. The grand overture to impress her had worked. Their first date followed shortly thereafter.

"Even if she absorbed him completely," Taurus continued, "It wouldn't solve it. It'd come back. And what would we do then? Logan would be dead, and she'd have only Kyle to keep her from being consumed. I suspect he won't be enough."

"Well, duh," Erin said snottily.

"Why is it so bad?" Magneto asked. He had his assumptions about Rogue's powers and the fix and the strain of Lanx she suffered from, but he never did get all the details from her. She always maintained that ever present distance, much to his frustration.

"I _need_ Évariste," Rogue whimpered from where she rested in the corner of the shower. She didn't care if hearing it hurt Erik right then. She just… She… "I want him here with me."

She slid down the tile until she slumped in the tub. She cuddled into the lush fabric of Erik's bathrobe and hugged her legs to herself. "I miss him."

Erik stared at her a long moment before looking away. He lowered the toilet seat with his powers and sat on it. Jaw clenched in defiance, he turned his determined steely blues back to her. There was a novel of promises, compromises, and conflicts in that look he gave her. He wasn't going anywhere. Not yet, at any rate.

Taurus dragged Logan out of the room. Erin bundled a towel and tucked it under Logan's head when Taurus laid him on the plush carpet between the bed and the bathroom door. She was grabbing a couple of the pillows from the bed to prop up his legs when a small explosion came from the hall just a little ways from the still open door.

"I'll check it out," Clarice said. But she didn't have to.

"You didn't!" Mystique yelled in exasperation.

"I tol' you to get out of my way, didn't I?" Gambit explained.

Gambit strutted through the doorway and stopped short at the sight of the post-trauma expressions they all wore. He feigned good humor as he asked, "Chère have a party and forget to invite Remy?"

Mystique bounded in behind him, promptly shoving him out of her way.

"Mama!" Rogue whimpered, drawing their attention back into the shower.

While Mystique rushed to the tub, sitting on its edge to wrap her almost-daughter in a hug and stroke her back and hair, Rogue's entourage, along with Remy shared equally surprised and confused silent questions to each other. _Her mother?_

Remy broke the awkwardness with a shudder and a flippant jibe. "Now I really need a shower. A long one. Alone. With boiling water. And lots of soap. Or acid."

He turned on his heel and strode out, grumpily muttering, "Her _skuzzy_ mother. Ick."

In the short distance, those remaining heard Rogue's muffled sobs against Mystique's clothed shoulder, "I can't sense him at all, mama. I want him back."

Erik grimaced. In all the years he had known her, she had never seemed as young to him as she did right then while clinging to Raven Darkholm's motherly embrace. Like Gambit, he suddenly felt dirty. Unlike Gambit, he bore it.

* * *

Lila was just stepping out of the stairwell on the basement level when someone barreled into her, slamming her back into the wall and a pile of plush toys. It was too dark to see who it was, but it was obvious where they went. She was about to follow after them when a blinking neon green light caught her attention.

Nine… Eight… Seven…

"Crap," she muttered and raked her hand across the air. A tear opened and she stepped through, quickly closing it behind her.

Two… One… BOOM!

Similar explosions followed on floors five, nine, and fifteen. In a cloud of dust, and a crumble of bricks, steel, furniture, frying pans, papers, and toys, the Elysium building came a-tumbling down.

* * *

_See you next chapter!_

I'm aiming for one a week. Though, watch, I probably just jinxed myself.

Posted June 28, 2008.


	9. Chapter 9 Wandering Star

**Disclaimer: **You know who they belong to so why do I bother to keep typing this part?

**Author's Note:** And see, I did jinx myself with my promise of once a week updates. Please forgive the delay of an extra week for this one. There was a tragedy in the family.

At least I finally kept my promise of a slightly shorter chapter: 17 pages and just over 7,000 words.

-

**Chapter Nine**

_Please could you stay awhile to share my grief  
For its such a lovely day  
To have to always feel this way  
And the time that I will suffer less  
Is when I never have to wake_

_Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved  
The blackness of darkness forever  
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved  
The blackness of darkness forever_

_... Those who have seen the needles eye, now tread  
Like a husk, from which all that was, now has fled  
And the masks that the monsters wear  
To feed upon their prey_

_Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved  
The blackness of darkness forever  
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved  
The blackness of darkness forever_

_(always) doubled up inside  
Take awhile to shed my grief  
(always) doubled up inside  
Taunted, cruel..._

_Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved  
The blackness of darkness forever  
Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved  
The blackness of darkness forever_

_("Wandering Star," Portishead)  
_

-

Blue moonlight glinted off the silver leaf of the fleur-de-lis etched into the ceiling tiles. It glistened along the many thin lines that reached across the walls. It winked, long and slow, at the corners, where the lines split and changed course, flinging to the floor and surging to the ceiling. These wires had been nigh-invisible in the daylight and under the bright lamps inside the room. They came alive at night, swathing her in the twinkling moonlight blue like a sea of shooting stars, like bathing in the steely intensity of his unbendable gaze. Like falling into the tangle of his sure limbs. Like shivering against his chest. Like sighing from his touch. Like shuddering after his thrust. Like inhaling his musk.

It was his room after all. His walls. His ceiling. His bed. Her comfort.

She felt like an adulterer.

* * *

Nurses and doctors traipsed through the labyrinth of beds, machines, tubes, and curtains on quiet, comfortable shoes. Each squeak of a sole stabbed a needle in his side. Each scrape of a clipboard raked nails down his spine. Each click of a pen stapled bolts into his temples. Each sweep of a letter carved shallow canyons along his limbs.

It was their vessel. Their routine. Their duty. Their study. His patience.

He felt like a virus.

* * *

Rogue slept soundly. She transitioned seamlessly to wakefulness. She smiled as she stretched and flexed, rolled over, and cuddled into the sheets and pillows and duvet again. Luxuriating in the sleekness of so indulgent a rest, she blinked, and he swathed her.

The subtle traces of metal glinted, glistened, and winked. Silver blue. Steely blue. Stealing her wits. Splaying her open.

She rolled over again. She covered her head with dark, mossy green pillows. She clung to the sheets bundled in front of her and pretended it was Évariste instead.

She felt like home was so very far away.

* * *

Évariste slept fitfully. Blood seeped from his not-wounds. Blood drenched his bandages. Blood dribbled onto the plastic enveloped bed. Blood dripped to the floor. It dripped from a pint. It slurred through a tube, a needle, and into his veins. Eventually, it joined its brothers on the floor.

The subtle trek of his thoughts circled, doubted, and spilled. Blackening blue. Bruise purple. Staining his wits. Splaying him open.

He couldn't roll over. The tubes tugged at his limbs. He covered his face with a forearm, upraised. One of the machines beeped its complaint so he lowered his arm to his side. He threaded his fingers through the tubes and wires and pretended it was Rogue's hand.

He felt like home was so very far away.

* * *

Lila dropped out of her teleportation rift to land in front of Raven Darkholm's desk. A letter of thick textured parchment, its four corners folded in to touch at the center where they were held together by a crimped-edged gold foil sticker in the shape of a bow, was propped against a leather wrapped tin of pens. Lila's name was scrawled in a flourishing cursive across one of the folded corners. The date was on its opposite. She unfolded it and read:

_Lila,_

_They're working on it. Don't feel bad for your delay. The feathered snitch had it arranged. You'll be contacted shortly in the usual ways. _

_-Irene_

Lila crumpled the note and tossed it in the leather wrapped trashcan before she returned to her home away from home in the Dyson Sphere.

* * *

Rogue chewed her biscuit. Buttery crumbs flaked onto her shirt.

_His fault_, she thought to herself, _he's the one that gave me silk._

She felt irrationally grumpy, which she could very well rationalize as being due to her elevated hormones from being pregnant OR the prolonged distance of the fix OR knowing she'd need another dose of Logan's healing before the fix was restored OR knowing she'd probably need alternating doses of Kyle and Logan OR she didn't want to sit through Erik baring his heart to her OR his devising a proposition of partnership with certain benefits she didn't really want OR maybe really wanted OR that after last night he may have lost interest OR… she was just irrational.

She brushed the crumbs off the shirt. _And he gave me the biscuits too._

Erik had done better than she'd expected with the clothing he'd brought her, at least. The shirt was a charcoal gray, long-sleeved button down silken thing. It was feminine, soft, and conservative. To spite him, she left the lowest buttons undone and tied the flaring halves into a knot like the she'd seen girls back in Caldecott do on sultry afternoons alongside the lazy Mississippi. To conflict him, she left the top most buttons undone to bare a considerable amount of her décolletage framed by the now billowy collar. By the time she'd reached his office, she'd become attached to the shirt, to the challenge she raised against him with it and to the contradiction that she wanted to both lose and win. She hated that she'd have to change the divine silken top before the day was half over if she didn't want the inevitable encroaching of her Lanx to shred it.

Her pants were denim and slung low on her hips. They were comfortable even if a little tight around her thighs, nothing so drastic that a few hours of wear wouldn't ease. She only had herself to blame for that part anyways. It wasn't like she'd permitted him to see the shape of her hips and legs under the cloak very often or for very long throughout the years of their Messenger meetings. If ill-fitting clothes imperfect to her tastes and impractical to her condition were the worst of his hospitality, she'd be more than grateful. Just so long as it wasn't a neon-sign of their ill-fitting relationship, imperfect to her appetite, impractical to her situation. That was something she did not want to stretch after only some few hours of wear.

Or did she?

She swirled the spiral stick in the small stoneware crock to gather a generous amount of the honey onto it. Holding the second half of her biscuit over her plate, she dribbled the honey onto it. She took a bite, savoring the earthy sweetness of the tupelo before following it with a sip of the Turkish coffee. When Erik had poured the syrupy brew for her, she'd wanted to decline. She'd never had it before and it looked a little… slimy at first. However, she felt it to be rude to reject it after his awful graciousness. One sip and she was instantly glad she had partaken. The light breakfast was surreptitiously delicious.

"Especially that insipid sludge he calls coffee," she playfully concluded… to an empty room.

Unfortunately, he'd been called away on some day-to-day business matter that he assured her wouldn't take long and had missed witnessing her first taste of it. That had been one and a half biscuits and one cup of java ago. She prepared a second of the brew.

"Deprive me of your company all ya want," she said after another sip. She beamed impishly to herself. "I'll just finish all your breakfast too."

* * *

Évariste awoke to a bright light stabbing his left eye. The source departed and his eyelid was released, but even closed, the image blotted the darkness. Seconds later, his right eye suffered the torment as well.

The offender must have noticed that Évariste had noticed because he spoke. "Two more pints over night." He waited until Évariste finished blinking to add, "Sure you're a mutant not a vampire?"

It was the intern. The young one named Kurt or Caret or Ben or… something. He had mussed dark brown hair and red-rimmed eyes like he'd just been woken himself only moments before. He yawned as if to prove it.

Kurt-Caret-Ben-Something blinked like the yawn surprised him, rubbed his eyes, then shook his head like it'd fling the sleepiness away.

"Excuse me," he said in amiable apology. "I'm not used to the hours here yet. Seems we're constantly chasing the moon and my internal clock is seriously thrown."

Évariste shrugged his gallant shrug indicating forgiveness, indifference, acceptance, whatever… Nevertheless it was resplendent and polite.

The intern jotted some notes as a nurse set out a platter full of covered dishes on the swing tray beside the bed. Without pause to his writing, the intern said, "Keep up this pace, Mr. Gavet, and we might have to stop to refuel." He flicked the blood drip for emphasis.

The nurse gave him a sharp look and the intern winked, awkwardly, because it was overtaken by another forceful yawn. Shaking her head disapprovingly, the nurse exited.

"Tough crowd," the intern said and then glanced sidelong at Évariste as if he were his accomplice. Good naturedly, he added, "When you escape, take me with you."

To Évariste's pleasant surprise, the only mockery his powers could find in the request was the face of the joke aimed at his coworkers. The intern had meant every word. A simple second skimming with his powers had confirmed it to indeed be so.

* * *

Erik returned looking rather grim, but closed lipped. He reached for the pot to pour himself some of the bitter-sweet brew and found it empty. He frowned mildly at Rogue.

"Be happy I left ya a couple of biscuits and honey," Rogue retorted.

"And you should count yourself lucky that it is within business hours," he replied dourly enough that she wasn't sure if he was joking or not. He did the magic no-button touch to spark the intercom to life and said, "Ms. Barker, more coffee please. Also, prepare the conference room for my next meeting. I'm afraid we won't all fit comfortably in here."

"It still cracks me up that you have a proper office and a secretary," Rogue quipped, not bothering to hide her amusement. "What would ol' Chucky think? I'm half-certain he imagines you in a dark cave brooding over machinations of global domination and how to wheedle the likes of his and mine to your misbegotten cause."

"And how do you know that it's untrue?" Again, that tone that was hard to decipher.

Rogue sighed, giving up on joviality, and tapped her temple in answer. He wanted to be serious, then fine; she could be solemn and brooding too. "Besides, that's what ya thought I was up to and you wouldn't demean yourself with such plagiarism."

Okay, maybe not so solemn and brooding. _Gawds, I don't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not ever._

"But what if it was to appeal to you? Make you feel more at home?" That same frustrating tone.

"I thought your bedroom covered that."

He blinked. And blinked again.

"I saw your clothes in the closet when I put your robe away." She sat the half-eaten third biscuit back on her plate. She'd lost her appetite. "Was the couch comfortable? Hope so, 'cause—"

His hand smacked the top of his desk. "Is that what you think?"

Rogue scoffed. She was startled at first by the abrupt minute violence he'd shown, but she gathered her wits quickly enough. She'd have been a poor co-leader at Elysium if a show of a puffed up egotist scared her overmuch. But, she had flinched, at first. He'd never been so… forceful with her before. Her pulse throbbed, not entirely unpleasantly, from it.

"And if I invited you to share it, would you decline?" She taunted neatly.

He deflated back into his chair. The memory of her clinging to her pseudo-mother in the tub only hours ago shadowed his thoughts. "Last night I wouldn't have."

"And tonight?" She shifted. The knotted shirt bared a sliver of her flat unmarred pale abdomen. The collar spread wider as the silk tightened across her breasts.

He couldn't help it. He watched and his blood stirred. He was just a man, after all. And, she had cornered the majority of his affection over the years. He drew the spiral stick out of the honey and watched the glow of it cling and finally cascade, slow and syrupy, until it was but a fine glittering string. He was struck with a fantastic image of her shuddering after he plucked her. "Are you asking?"

"Are you?" She uncrossed and crossed her legs, shifting yet again. This time, the knot lowered to hide the pale flesh and the silk loosened its clutch on her chest. Her hair tumbled forward, veiling half of her face. The small patch of Lanx, like a hot smack to her cheek, remained clear in his view and haunted him like a branding. Growing, expanding, microns at a time, it tugged at his senses like a pulse.

He let go the honey-stick, closed his eyes, dipped his head, and clasped his hands in his lap, left over right. "You are very young, Rogue…"

"I'm not a child," she spat derisively and crossed her arms. She'd read his thoughts before, not that she needed to. He had been practically pushing the image of her weak, crying, and small in Raven's embrace at her. The same went for the contradicting image of his fingers strumming across her ribs as she arched, exhaling staccato sighs as a result of his playing upon her.

"Nearly one," he said, opening his eyes and sparing her a condescending appraisal. "And I could be your—"

"Grandfather?"

He coughed, thoroughly caught off guard. He quickly did the math, and frowned. "Unfortunately, yes."

"So what?" She said, but thought, _Why am I pushing this?_ _Don't I want fewer complications?_ "Wanda and Pietro are near enough my age and—"

"And they are my _children_."

"But not from _this_ body," she countered, pointing at him. _Shut up already. Stop this. You don't really want this._ "Astra saw to that. 'Ol Chucky even helped, didn't he?" _Do ya, girl?_

"Why are you doing this, Rogue?" He asked, deflating again.

"I don't know." She looked away, crossed her arms and legs again. Coiled herself. Knotted herself. "Maybe I need to make sure you'll keep helping us. Might need more than just a few days of refuge."

He sighed and leaned forward. Somehow, her admission had relaxed him and strengthened him all at once. "You have it."

She peaked, sidelong, at him. "Unconditionally?"

He straightened, returned to that regal posture she had come to admire and crave, and stated bluntly, "No."

She blinked. She slowly swung around to face him again. "Then what do you—"

Ms. Barker knocked once before entering, carrying a tray of the fresh Turkish brew. She set it down, gave Rogue a disapproving look, turned a look Rogue couldn't see to Magneto, which he answered with a distinguished nod, and then left.

Rogue grimaced and before she could repeat—or finish, rather—her question, Erik spoke.

"It is precisely the reason I requested this meeting this morning."

Rogue groaned. As much as she goaded him earlier, they weren't really facing the situation. She really didn't want to hear him say it. She held up a hand. "I'm not going to betray Évariste, so stop right there. Whatever this is between us, you should know that much." She frowned wryly. "I'm a flirt, yeah, maybe even a bit of a tease at times, and Ol' Chucky would probably have a field day sorting through the myriad of reasons motivating that mad behavior. Most of them you know, the rest I won't tell you. But in the end, it comes down to the simple truth that I won't betray Évariste."

Her hand rested against her belly. _Or our bébé._

His attention followed her motion and a question lit his steely eyes briefly, but he stayed on topic. "If I would trade for your affections, I wouldn't be worthy of them."

She exhaled slowly, and bit her lip. "You shouldn't care to be."

He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his desk. "It's not for lack of trying," he admitted. He turned his own version of an ironic frown on her. "But that is not the point."

She quirked a brow, her interest piqued.

"I find myself at a crossroads with you here, one that I cannot permit to pass, not if I wish to maintain the respect and trust of my people."

Now she was really curious.

"Before, as the Messenger, our time together was typically brief, and despite the growing…" he searched for the appropriate word, finally settling for "…connection between us, it was professional. It was a standard that was supported by the need for a continued alliance with the Underground. I could therefore succumb to the otherwise unseemly role of following your rules."

"Your privilege, my precaution," Rogue said, confirming his logic.

"Now…" He spread his arms, encompassing the entirety of their situation with a heavy sigh.

"My privilege, your precautions," Rogue finished for him. "I assumed…" She flushed. "I feel like an ass, Erik. Embarrassed, right and proper like." She tugged at the knot in the shirt, avoiding the real reason of her shame, which he was well aware of and thus had no need to actually state. "All I've thought about is myself, my people."

"As is your duty," he conceded. "And in all honesty, I didn't help dissuade the idea at your arrival. You do know how to unsettle a man." He steepled his hands in contemplation. "The staff already considers you a favored guest. Amelia is not pleased that I gave you my room."

"I'll switch."

"Mayhap in a few days," he admitted, though somewhat in his tone revealed he didn't wholly want that. "Too soon and it will rouse suspicion."

She picked at the tails of the knotted blouse and nodded.

"And you can't be spewing reckless demands at me."

A smirk tugged up a corner of her mouth.

"In public," he quickly added before she could interject.

Her smirk deepened. "What about in private?"

He flushed. It was the slightest pink rising up his neck. She'd have probably missed it if she weren't gazing at him so intently through the veil of her dual-toned hair. It was gone almost as swiftly as it had appeared.

"This is not a game," he said, rising. He maneuvered around his desk to the corner nearest her. "No more than when you were in control of our encounters."

Her smirk dimmed, but remained, and was somehow more potent for it. "You like having the control."

He lifted her chin with two fingertips. Electric and buzzing, his touch was, due to the thin magnetic field he produced to accomplish it. Her hair slid back, crackling from the excess energy of his nearness, to bare her conflicted expression—desire, mire, and so much betwixt and between—for him. His steely blue eyes sparked like struck flint. "Yes. I do."

Ms. Barker knocked and swung open the office door. "The conference room is ready. Attendants have already begun filing in."

"We will join them shortly," Magneto told his secretary. He still held Rogue's chin upraised. He still held her gaze. "Thank you."

As Ms. Barker grimaced and left, Magneto took in the room, their position in it, the way they must have appeared to his secretary—him looming and statuesque, Rogue taut and compliant. He smiled broadly.

"You enjoy it too much," she said as she jerked out of his delicate and determinable hold. She stood and slinked around her chair, opposite of him. She squared herself against him. She was three-quarters his height, but no less indomitable a presence. "Don't let it go to your head, Lord Magneto. When it's just us, some of the standards still apply."

He matched her wit for wit, will for will, and faint grin to faint frown, and in some ways overcame. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

She scoffed and led the way out of his office. "Just don't forget I'm here for my people, for Évariste." _For Marieé._ "Not _your_ pleasure."

He sent a gentle wave of his powers to brush against the smack of Lanx on her cheek, tugging her to look back to him.

"I'll take my pleasure as I wish," he told her with that tone that filled her up. "My territory, my privilege."

She lifted a pane of Jean's telekinesis between them, cutting off his access to her Lanx. "Your ego," she said with finality. "Your loss."

She smiled tightly as she exited his office and entered the lobby. She didn't care to see how he greeted the room as they passed through it. Or maybe she cared too much. Either way, she was glad the talk was over. She didn't even mind sharing the burden of responsibility in their behavior. He couldn't be any more zealous with her now for his sake, his province's sake, than she could have been with him as his Messenger. It evened the stakes a little. It eased her bindings.

It hadn't even taken a few hours wear.

* * *

"All of my team have been retrieved and accounted for," Danvers reported. "They are on standby until further notice."

"Have you discovered the safe house yet?" Val asked.

"No," Danvers answered. "But Elysium has been eliminated. No retreat there. No resources either."

"We need that safe house." Val was adamant. "Put some of your team on recon at Magneto's Province. She's bound to make for it sooner or later. Let's hope for sooner."

"Will do."

"We'll be detouring to Madripoor tomorrow," Fury informed them. "Three days at least. I wouldn't make plans during that time. We'll be incommunicado during the bulk of it."

"I'm not concerned," Val said. "She won't be able to make a bid for us then anyway. Give us time to set up more on our end."

"I've already begun to," Dr. Essex said with his sharp-toothed grin that made Hank want to shudder, squeamish. Essex inclined his head to Fury. "Speaking of which, thank you for the use of the incubator."

"Thank Hank," Fury told him with a puff of his cigar. "His grant paid for it." The smoke trailed up to join the clouds drifting past. He may have told them they were meeting on the empty deck to be out of earshot of the free-roaming members of the Underground, especially that tenacious Suzi, but really he just needed a smoke. He didn't like being forced to charter Val's mission. It rankled him something fierce.

"Do not thank me," Hank piped in. He most assuredly did not want to be included in whatever malignant plans Essex had cocked up. He eyed Val gravely. "She pulled rank. But, do not for an instant think that I will reclaim it if need be."

"Whoever lent it, then, my gratitude," Essex conceded, though it sounded more like patronizing. "It will be indispensable once Rogue is here."

"An incubator for Rogue?" Carol asked incredulously. "How long you expect to hold her here? Who could you even get to knock her up? Wait, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know your methods."

"None would be needed," Essex stated plainly. "Not if Évariste's confession is truthful."

"I believe it is," Hank said, defending Évariste. Though, after he said it, it no longer felt like a defense, not if it led to her and the fetus in Essex's jurisdiction.

"Rogue's pregnant?" Carol asked in disbelief. "But Kelly's Law…" She whirled on Val. "I won't blindly follow orders violating it. I actually agree with it. Especially now, after so many were killed in the war or left barren from Lanx."

"Pipe down, Carol. I'm not even convinced she _is_ pregnant," Val said defiantly. "Évariste told us only last night. They could have invoked it at the first sign of your arrival, but they didn't. Until further proof, we treat her like the outlaw she is."

"Then why have _him_—" Carol hooked a thumb at Essex "—preparing for it?"

"To give her a chance to prove it once she's in custody, of course." Val smiled coolly. "And then to provide proper care."

Carol glared sidelong at the Doctor's sharp-toothed grin. "I doubt there's anything about what he practices that I'd call proper or caring." She turned a hard look to Hank. "Why aren't you handling it?"

"I asked and he declined," Val answered snidely for him. "He has more important things to do."

"I merely reminded you that I am neither in your nor SHIELD's employ. My purposes here are first and foremost to discover a reversal of the various strains of the technovirus. I will gladly assist in a medical emergency. However, I am not available to satisfy your personal agendas." He clenched his furry blue fists, pumping them at his sides. "You never told me what those agendas entailed and when told me you had other options for physicians I assumed you meant at best Moira MacTaggart or at least Cecelia Reyes, but not _him_!" Hank took a moment to calm his tone. "I would rather slow my progress on the virus than to sit idly by while he defiles children."

"Oh, no," Essex hissed. "You won't take this from me now. Marlee is much too fascinating and I will not be kept from the wonders of the Unrecht's unlikely get."

"Stop it, both of you," Fury ordered. "You had your chance, McCoy. And as much as it disturbs even me to have this freak on board, I agreed that you're much more valuable where you are." He puffed his cigar and smiled. "Besides, in the end, it's my call. I'll boot all of you off here in the middle of the desert if I see or hear something going on that I don't like." He looked pointedly at Val, before settling hard on Essex. "Got it?"

Nobody assented or dissented. Not that it would matter either way.

"Enough talk," Fury said as he stubbed out his cigar. "Do what ya gotta do. We'll be silent in less than eighteen hours time."

The lift opened just as Fury reached to punch the call button and out stepped Cal'syee Neramani. Deathbird's feathers flurried in the breeze and were as wild and unrestrained as her black alien gaze. She looked past Fury to Val and said, "Good to see you didn't forget me."

"Like a rooster squawking at sunset," Carol grumbled under her breath.

"Is it done?" Val asked Deathbird.

"Package delivered," Cal'syee answered. "So, when do I get to do something a little more hands on in all this?"

"All in good time," Val said.

* * *

"Your secret's out," Exodus said as he slid several copies of the Daily Bugle, other papers, and internet news printouts across the conference table. "The Unrecht apparently had built a secret society that prayed on New York's restless and rebellious youth."

"They blew it up?!" Erin asked in shock. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" Clarice muttered. "Same reason they attacked in the first place." Her arms were crossed and the last thing she wanted was Kyle's repeated attempts to comfort her with a hug. Like a hug could salve the pain of losing her home of the last six years.

"Nah, this was different," Rogue said in a mellow, steady tone. "The attack got out of hand. Snatch and grab turned cluster-chuck. This, though, this was strategy. It was precisely tactical."

"But why?" Erin whined. The infirmary was _hers_. She'd spent the last year developing it to her liking. "They already uprooted us."

Cristoff fingered his ear like her whining had ruined his hearing. "Take away our home and where do we go?"

"The safe house," Clarice said. "After that, the other installations."

"And when you go there," Mystique said, sounding like a question.

"Dey take dem out too," Gambit said.

"Or they want to goad you into going after them," Logan said. "Make you face them on their grounds."

"I'm already planning that," Rogue stated evenly. "It's why they took the kids, right?" _Duh._

"And Évariste," Mystique added bluntly. She gouged both Magneto and Remy with her following smirk.

"Yeah, but he was a target to begin with," Rogue said dismissing it. "Same with me. They think we can lead them to Fausse and Narcisse. The kids were likely meant to draw them out too."

"But, why destroy Elysium?" Kyle asked. "Do they realize how much information they could have gotten on us out of it?"

"I don't think information is what they need, is it, _Messenger_?" Amelia Voght complained. She reached into the cardboard box she'd brought with her into the conference room and pulled out Rogue's hooded suede cloak. She unfolded an accompanying note from out of it and read, "You'll probably need this to surprise your next victim..." Her eyes skimmed ahead of her voice and she angled a harsh look on Magneto. "You invited the Unrecht in here? Into your bed?"

"Does he look infected to you?" Rogue snapped. "Not my fault he'd rather risk a disease over your—"

"Enough!" Magneto boomed.

"No, it isn't," Amelia said. "What have we gotten from her other than stirring things up for us? Other than stirring you up?"

Rogue and Magneto shared a knowing glance.

"Oh, don't go pulling that _it's not for you to know_ crap now, Magnus," Amelia said. "I'm head of your security and yet I don't have even a hint behind your reasoning for our biggest security risks."

The room rattled. The table, the chairs, the stoic wall decorations, perhaps even the walls or something in the walls. There was so much noise it was hard for them all to tell what exactly made it, other than Magneto's power.

"I am master here," he said. He was resonant and imperial, but not angry or malevolent. "I decide, not you. Your advice, when it is clearheaded is welcome, but it does not dictate my whims."

"Just so long as it's not your whims that are ruling us in place of your wits."

They shared a long and heavy look between them, Magneto and Amelia, one that spoke of his behaviors and her quiet allegiance during the years before the war had tempered him. She had known him then, had identified that fine thread of goodness fathomed deep beneath the muck of his fury, rimed righteousness, and blind-sighted vengeful machinations. She had known it, stood by it, and patiently awaited its rising out of the mire to gleam and lead them. It had not been in vain.

"They aren't," he said steadily.

Amelia, guileless, nodded in accepting. "Just making sure."

Magneto lifted his stately visage to face the rest of them, and announced, "I agree to house, clothe, and feed the Underground's Messenger and her small entourage under the claim of sanctuary, which I am allowed to grant without conflict from any nation so long as they remain within the borders of my province." He flicked an apologetic glance to Rogue before regaining his austere visage again. "Beyond that, I will gauge as circumstances arise. Little manpower can I offer as of yet, and of that, only those that would go voluntarily, and of course some means of communication."

"No communication," Rogue insisted. She gathered the suede-hooded cloak into her lap. "They know we're here. They'll track it and I won't risk the others."

"How did they know?" Clarice asked.

"Lucky guess?" Erin asked, though it was weak and hopeful, sounding like she knew it to be false.

Rogue glanced warily at Logan. "Growly over here seems to be best at leading our enemies straight to us."

Logan groused. "Not my fault if you and Cypher didn't find all the bugs on me."

"It wasn't that," Rogue said.

"It was probably the scoundrel anyways," Mystique ventured. "Followed him here while they tracked Logan to Elysium."

"Hey now, Remy be de master of stealth." He caught Rogue's eye and winked. "Come and go like a slippery dream."

"It wasn't Remy," Rogue said. A faint smile tugged at the edge of her lips from Remy's boast. Settling, she continued, "Logan called the X-Men. My bet would be that they were scanning all the remaining Messenger contacts, Magneto included, in conjunctions to other known contacts, like Xavier's brood." She pushed the less damaged of the strange weapons further onto the table for all to see. "Deathbird had to have provided these. Their ammo," Rogue caught as her breath hitched. Continuing anew, she said, "Erin swears they didn't die, so I'm guessing they were teleported. I still need to find out for sure."

"Forge," Mystique breathed. There was years of history laced within her tone, but nothing decipherable enough to explain it in the singly uttered word.

"Yeah," Rogue said. She pushed out the digital doohickey beside the strange weapon. "And for this." Apologetically, she eyed Mystique, her near-mother, and repeated, "I _need_ to know."

Mystique pursed her lips into a thin stubborn line, bearing it, and nodded.

"Could they have gotten the coordinates from one of our transports?" Cristoff asked.

"Not yet," Rogue said shaking her head. "Cypher coded them himself. They probably retrieved their drives before blowing up Elysium, but it'll take them time to break the language. Months maybe." She eyed Logan irritably. "Even if Kitty helps them unwittingly."

Logan drew in a sharp breath. "Paige was working on it, wasn't she? That's why—"

Rogue paled, but she gritted her teeth and swore. "I didn't kill her or her brother."

"How did she get it?" Logan asked, a menacing growl threatening to curdle his words. "Why did she have it?"

"I don't know that she did," Rogue admitted and frowned. "Cypher never said as much, and he would have. To me, or Évariste, at the least. If he and Kitty found the missing files."

"Unless he was hiding dem from her," Gambit asked without meeting her eyes. He flipped a card, end over end, balanced on its corners between the table and his forefinger.

On that, it was Logan that ceded. "Nah," he said. "Doug… He hasn't changed that much. He wouldn't."

"You're so sure," Mystique blatantly poked. "As sure that you would do little harm by following him to Elysium? By calling the X-Men?"

"You're not helping, _ma_—Mystique," Rogue said, managing to shed the whine from it.

"What about Fausse or Narcisse?" Cristoff asked plainly.

Rogue looked sharply at him, betrayal hot in her eyes.

"They should know, Rogue," Cristoff offered with outspread hands, truce like. "This could be beyond you."

She was keenly aware of how closely Magneto, Logan, and Gambit, though he did so more slyly, as though making it a pleasant virtue, watched her at that. However, it was for Exodus, a fellow telepath, that she clamped down hard on her shields. She'd never had a meeting with him in attendance before. Of course, they were her rules then. Magneto's now.

She shook her head adamantly. "They're the endgame."

"What of Tessa," Magneto asked, changing the subject. "You mentioned needing to treat with her last night."

Rogue cleared her throat and nodded. "They'll go to her to translate Elysium's hard drives."

"Shaw's shadow? She's loyal to you?" Exodus asked incredulously.

"No," she answered.

Logan shook his head, backing up Rogue's assessment. "She's close to Bishop." He sighed, grumbling at the memory of the half-heard phone call with Val and the uncharacteristic pat on the back in Bishop's office. "And _he_ spiked me with the bug."

Rogue nodded gravely. "She's also one of Xavier's spies."

Remy halted the spin of the card, held it poised corner-to-table, corner-to-forefinger, the Queen of Spades angling at her and Magneto both. Rogue wasn't sure if it a sign that he knew of Xavier's seedier intrigues or not, nor if he was toying in his own game with him and her and Eric. He wasn't a telepath, she was certain of that, but he was extra-sensory of some sort, heady and untrained, and the buzz of it that surrounded it made her own use of Jean's telepathy only intermittently successful on him. The raw and wild nature she'd felt of it made her think it delved into emotions rather than thoughts. Empathy wasn't among his talents in the profiles she'd read of him before she requested he be the X-Man to meet with her in the Morlock tunnels. She'd wondered how well he knew of it himself._ Likely only marginally_, she suspected, keeping it to herself.

Magneto frowned at Remy, who returned it with a flash of wicked mischief in his devil-may-care blazing gaze, though it left Rogue no more illuminated at Remy's motives.

Logan hadn't known Xavier played Tessa in that way; it was clearly writ in his posture and expression, as was his lack of surprise at how easily he found himself believing it.

Magneto pulled his attention from Remy in irritation. He took a long draw of his Turkish brew and settled his focus intently upon Rogue. The cup emptied, he poured another, and poised for another sip, he inquired, "You can sway her?"

Rogue's eyes danced with anticipation and pleased mischief of her own. "I can."

Remy flashed a grin. Amusement, enthusiasm, and something undecipherable lurked in the smoldering inky depths of his eyes. "So could I."

"And next you'll tell us you know where they've got them," Kyle said mockingly.

Remy's grin vanished. In its gulf, Rogue's appeared anew.

"I know," Rogue said. Fierce and determined, she told them. "The Helicarrier."

"Forge helped design it," Mystique breathed again, "Along with Tony Stark and Reed Richards."

"Exactly," Rogue said, her eyes dancing alit again. To those gathered in the room, she explained, "It's the only place that could hold them in any surety that I couldn't rout out with a few well placed touches."

"Then you don't know at all," Amelia ventured. There was no more anger in it, only careful examination. "It could be anywhere by now, and can fly anywhere else on short notice. You won't be likely to ambush it nor slip on board unnoticed."

Rogue deflated slightly. "Exactly."

"But Forge could," Mystique admitted. Anguish and softness both marred her typical confident tone.

"And so we will retrieve him," Magneto said, standing. "He and this Tessa."

"And send word to the others," Cristoff reminded. "Messenger contacts and our own people as well. If the weapon is a teleportation device, they will need to be warned about Deathbird. We'll need to know who else is loyal still too."

"Agreed," Rogue said. "However, we can't do it from here." She spared a long, lean look to Magneto. "If Clarice can transport us undetected, can you spare us trustworthy accompaniment and permit us to reenter under the claim of sanctuary."

Magneto sought Amelia's advice in a glance.

Amelia answered unwaveringly. "So long as you're unobtrusive and relatively unnoticed outside, we can grant you a few persons who are freely willing to support your efforts." She dipped her head at Magneto and added, just unwaveringly, "Not you, Magnus. Nor I or Exodus. We draw too much obvious attention."

Magneto swallowed that grimly, but swallowed it nonetheless. His only show of contention to it was his following statement. "The Cajun will not go with you either."

Remy's eyes flashed, burning embers swathed in darkness. When he spoke, it was not what any of them expected. "Like y' said. You're de _master_ here, n'est-ce pas?" And yet it was, thick with scantily clad sarcasm as it was.

The Jack of Spades magically joined the Queen of Spades in her end-over-end, spinning dance by his nimble fingers. Magneto narrowed his eyes at the sight of it.

Logan rolled his eyes.

"At least I will be with you," Mystique said.

"No," Rogue said, "I need you to reach Forge."

Mystique blanched mildly. "I thought you might say that."

"I'm sorry, mama," Rogue told her quietly. "If there was another way, I'd—"

"Shh," Mystique said, stilling her. "For you, I'll do it." Louder. "For you and the continuance of your profound happiness with Évariste." And with that, she glanced aside to Magneto and Remy both. Her eyes alit, showing her pleasure at her cruelty towards them.

Rogue frowned.

Again, Logan rolled his eyes.

* * *

_See you next chapter!_

Posted July 11, 2008.


	10. Chapter 10 Worse Things

**Author's Note:** I must apologize for my grotesquely late update. This was mostly finished before I even posted the last chapter, so I have no good enough excuse for my tardiness. Thank you for your kind condolences at my loss, and, of course, for reviews as well. For those who don't speak up: I know you're there, all the chapter hits are climbing rather high and fast. Grant me a peak into your thoughts on them?

It's a monster of a chapter: 42 pages _(single spaced)_ and almost 18,000 words.

**PS.** Omg, why aren't the section breaks working anymore!?!?!?! (throws mild tantrum) My eyes went crosseyed trying to put in makeshift ones real quick. Let me know if I missed any or misplaced any. Thanks! Enjoy!

**Description:** Ah, Remy. Friendship may disrobe the cloak, but the drain remains.

-

**Chapter Ten**

_Once when I was all alone,  
I called you, and you weren't at home  
My heart fell like a stone  
To the ground, to the ground, to the ground_

_Why, when morn had dawned on me,  
And anger grew like ecstasy,  
And Leda threw the swan on me and I fell  
To the ground, to the ground, to the ground_

_Oh, don't say, "I want you,"  
Don't stay this way, believe me,  
I wasn't trying to play the game  
Where someone's to blame,  
I'll stay the same 'til you change your mind  
And you'll change your mind_

_I could have broken you,  
I should have spoken for you  
You should have seen it was turning me on  
Don't you know it's true?  
There are worse things, perverse things I could do_

_Once when I was all alone,  
I could not find the telephone  
So instead I burned your pretty home  
To the ground, to the ground, to the ground_

_("Worse Things," Johnny Hollow)  
_

-

Preparations were completed swiftly. Four of Amelia's security officers would be joining Rogue, Kyle, Clarice, Erin, and Cristoph. They would splinter into smaller groups after Clarice blinked them a safe distance away and one officer would go with each. Mystique would slip off separately under her own mundane disguise. That would be a few hours later, though, since she was unconscious at the moment. Rogue had borrowed enough of Mystique's power to use if she needed to slip by unnoticed should she encounter any of Val's people. Thanks to Jean's influences, Rogue could store the ability for a later use, though she could still only use it in a limited supply dependent foremost on how much she borrowed. That Rogue was to absorb Mystique at all had been Mystique's insistence, another of those behaviors she blamed on her promise to Irene. It was Rogue's insistence that she get a small dose of Kyle first, to satisfy her own qualms, paltry a solution it might have been, about inadvertently infecting Mystique with Lanx in her own good intentions.

Now, two fresh sets of stolen memories churned in Rogue's skull. She was sorely out of practice for it and needed a few minutes to compose herself, to steady herself. With her hooded suede cloak comfortably settled around her, she sought solace out on the airy expanse of the veranda balcony overlooking the courtyard.

Gambit was already there, reclined along one of the stunted stone walls intermixed between sets of railings. He was smoking a cigarette, but upon seeing her, he stubbed it out on the underside of his shoe. Otherwise, he seemed content to leave her alone.

She went to the rail none too far from his stone lounge and soaked up the dewy morning air, the sight of all the plentiful green trees, and the sound of young children playing below. She had to lean out a little to watch them toss water balloons at each other. They were around the age of Marlee and Max, from what she could tell at that distance, that angle. It gave her a pang of sadness anew for their plight. It also crooned her will. _I'll get you home._

She watched them a while longer before the pang swelled too large to encompass and she had to wrench her attention to the bright and cheery morning sky.

"You really married," Gambit asked, apparently now content to converse.

"Huh?"

"Mystique said dey got your husband."

"Oh, that. Nah, I'm not hitched," Rogue answered. "Not traditionally, leastways. Doesn't make me any more available."

"But, all dat stuff wit' Erik. You teetering a fence 'bout it."

"I am," she admitted. "Don't make it right and proper. Nor does it mean I'll follow through with it. Maybe I'm sorta fond of the what-might-have-been. Maybe I indulge it more than I should."

"Magneto know dis?"

"Never said it outright, not like that," she said wistfully. "I had assumed he was playing along, mostly. Been gettin' the idea… oh, I don't know… maybe I've got it all wrong."

"Lots of maybes in all dat, chère. Any plans to put a stop to it?"

"While I'm otherwise homeless? Are ya dense?"

He chuckled. "Guess dat's a no."

"Whatever he thinks we might be, he knows it's impossible."

"And if Évariste—dat's his name, right—doesn't come out de other side of dis?"

"Then I probably won't either. And he knows that too."

"I've heard whispers," Remy dared to say, though there was nothing daring in his tone. "Dat you're _afflicted_."

He noted how the wording seemed to make her cringe. It wasn't more than a sinking motion of the hood and cloak, so he wasn't sure. He continued anyways. It was better than the punches he'd solicited with his rash words during their first Messenger meeting in the tunnels, after all.

"Somet'ing called de fix? Is it a link between de two of you? Like a psychic bond?"

"Yes."

It wasn't more than Magneto and the others knew so she figured there was little point in hiding it. Besides, the trauma recently inflicted upon it was a medical issue for her. Even she knew the perilous recklessness contained in trying to disguise it.

"It was an accident, a long time ago," Rogue explained. "His powers, my powers, his crush, my condition. My guts were spilling onto the dirt. His concern overflowed his capacity. He's still a little angry with me for trying to take Sabretooth out on my own."

Gambits eyebrows lifted in surprise. He was impressed and disbelieving all at once.

"I lost, of course," she said dryly. "But I don't suspect I actually expected to survive, let alone to win. Still, it worked out in the end. Logan lived. Most of the Morlocks lived." A faint sardonic lilt elongated the next. "You became a traitor."

Seeing his eyes flash like burning rubies, she softened it by adding, "By betraying a madman. Made the difference, made it only a _partial_ massacre."

"You so sure 'bout all dat?" It was challenging. He swung his legs off the stone and let them dangle.

The hood and cloak shifted, giving him the impression that she shrugged lightly. "Told you I studied up on you."

"Even learned my native tongue." He winked, rueful, but she couldn't see it under his dark sunglasses.

The hood alone shifted and he wondered if she was smiling. He sought her with his empathy, sensing impish mirth atop a distant withering sadness, and believed it was so.

"Évariste saved me," she said it like it explained it, though it did little to enlighten him on the topic of her knowing French-Creole-Cajun slang. "The fix was born."

"What's it like, being dat close to someone? Share your t'oughts? Your feelings?" A thought occurred to him. "What he t'ink about you and Erik?"

The hood dipped forward. Profound guilt sloughed off of her.

"Désolé," he told her and meant it. How could he not when his empathy made him experience her guilt as if it were his own?

A full minute passed before the hood lifted again.

"De rein," _It's nothing_, she told him eventually, dismissing his transgression. "It is what it is. Sometimes it's harder than others." The hood angled the slightest bit towards him. "Sometimes easier."

"So why you telling me all dis?" He slid off the stone, his back to the view, his eyes probing the hollow depths of her hood. "Everyone kept on warnin' me your lips were sealed." He licked his own unconsciously.

"You're safe," She said with a crooked smile. "You're not in it for the what-ifs or maybe-somedays. You're just in it for the thrill. You don't mind it being a game."

He smirked, but if not for his dark glasses she would've noticed that it was cynical and self-deprecating by his eyes. It was the very thing he'd argued about with Mystique. And yet… "You almost make it sound a virtue."

"It's all I can offer, so I justify it," she said. "Erik… It was wrong of me to play with him. He only likes it when things are serious. We both ended up caught in that sticky web. But you… We could both afford to fall a little, I think, just enough to keep the stakes raised, and still remember it's just a game. The delicious torture of it is sufficient for you I think."

Grinning fit to split himself, he loped an arm around her shoulders. "Well… I t'ink dis be de beginning of a beautiful friendship."

She savored the moment, enjoying the concept of simply having a friend. Not an attachment or a parent-figure or a dependent or an unquenchable-ache, but a friend. The idea of it gleamed finer than gold or platinum.

The Lanx stirred on her cheek, reminding her of her dependence on Kyle and Logan now and worse, how Erik could target it and tug at her on his whim. She frowned, though it was lost in the shadows of the cloak, and considered how similar his pull on her Lanx matched his pull on her emotions. Like a leash. She wondered how she let their roles switch. Wasn't she supposed to be holding those reins?

While she ruminated, Remy snuck inside her guard. He pushed the hood aside and leaned in, as if the hot smack of Lanx on her cheek had beckoned him to plant a kiss upon it.

"Maggots to a corpse," she said wistfully, rephrasing what she told him in the tunnels, and he backed out of the hollow of her hood, though not wholly away. "A little is never enough."

"You say de sweetest t'ings, chère." He whispered it against the hood. His words stirred it, made the oh-so-soft suede flutter against his cheek.

"Safe for me," she said as she lightly shrugged him off before he could pursue more. "Not so safe for devil-may-care scoundrels with a death wish." And yet, she couldn't help herself. "Ya may not have noticed," she said contradictory, playfully, turning the warning into a flirtatious boast, "but I'm mighty hard _not_ to fall for." She waggled her gloved fingers forebodingly at him. "Just one little touch and down you go, all mine."

"Ahh," Remy said. Still to her side, he turned to face her and loped his arm around the front of her waist this time. "But dat's de real beauty of it, n'est-ce pas?" He hiked her closer, bumping hips, his right to her right, like in a Tango, and upsetting her balance just enough to make her grip the railing. "You don't have a vested interest in my wellbeing, so what do you care?"

She couldn't help it. She laughed. "Mystique and Erik must really hate you."

"What can I say?" He asked rhetorically. "Remy's a charmer."

"Remy's a swamp rat," she corrected him and found serenity in it. She rested her head against his shoulder and inhaled his scent—cigarettes, a spicy musk of utterly masculine cologne, the sharp floral of an expensive shampoo that was almost feminine—and its backdrop, the sweet and earthy air of the courtyard below. "Don't rattle the beds of too many fresh faced girls in Erik's territory while I'm gone," she told him. "They gotta be running low on contraceptives by now. Our next exchange would've been tomorrow, not that we even prepared it."

"Hey now, Remy's a gentleman," he said and chuckled. He puffed his chest with mock pride. "I bring my own."

"When Erik comes pounding on Xavier's door to make ya do right by 'em, ya best not complain to me about it," she told him. "Remember, I warned ya."

"Way I see it, he's got no room to complain." He pulled his arm from around her, leaned back against the railing and counted off his reasoning on his fingers. "You're unavailable. You're younger than his kids. He didn't even know dey existed 'til dey were all grown up. He's jealous of my romantic expertise and sexy physique." He tipped his sunglasses down and winked at her. "Not to mention my age."

She elbowed him smartly in the ribs. "Be nice."

Remy shrugged, non-committal, saying, "Maybe…" He smirked—a taunt, a tease, laid open the gauntlet, displaying a gambit. "But only if you survive."

She frowned sourly. "Always do." She headed inside.

"Hey, Rogue?" Remy called after her. "Ol' bucket-head really tap de Underground for condoms?"

Her fingers splayed across her belly—_Marieé_—though he couldn't see it. Over her shoulder, she called back, "Ironically, yes." She twisted a wicked little grin back at him; let the sunshine into the hood enough to share it with him. "…And other things."

His easy chuckles trailed after her, warming her as surely as the docile morning sun.

_Friends…_ She found it delectably inviting.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Carol bypassed the security and entered Essex's lab without request.

Annoyance creased his brow at her approach. He was all smiles, sharp-toothed and foreboding, when he asked her, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm here to keep your tortures from being a waste," she said curtly as she avoided looking at the six-year-old patient anchored to the medical bed.

"I would hardly call the manifestation of young Max's powers a waste of efforts."

"You did it?" She didn't bother to hide her suspicion and shock.

He removed the syringe from Max's arm, dislodged the blood filled vial, and set it in the holder beside three others. "Not yet."

She swallowed hard. "Well, bring in Marlee. Let's see what we can get out of the two of them."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

They were gathered in the conference room, a large map already outspread on the table, waiting for Rogue's return. They didn't waste breath on greetings when she entered.

"See here," Magneto pointed on the map and then out the window to the desiccated tower poking up in the distance. "That's there. See the rim near the top?"

They squinted and nodded.

"Mystique reports that Nightcrawler uses that as a stop-point when they teleport here," Magneto explained. "If none of you move around overmuch, it should hold you." To Clarice, he asked, "Can you reach it?"

"Yes," Clarice said confidently. And she could, and much further, when need be, Rogue knew it for a surety.

"Good."

Magneto continued pointing out their route options using the map and computer printed pictures as navigational tools. A second set was bound in a small snap-open binder she could take with her.

When he finished, Rogue went over the line-ups. "Hollow goes with me and Erin to the safe house."

Hollow was mute, though it was unknown if it was voluntarily or not. Her razor-sharp carmine colored skin, clothed in numerous leather straps and belts that managed to remain faintly modest, made even Rogue cringe at the thought of ever needing to fight her let alone touch her. Hair, hands and feet were like claws, formed of elongated tendrils in matching carmine, though sharper than her skin. Rogue felt an instant kinship with the girl, and wondered if she had any idea of her own circumstances in return.

"Clarice drops off Taurus and Polaris somewhere in Connecticut," Rogue continued. "Near Westchester, she looses Monet and Logan, then she, Havoc, and Kyle continue down to New Jersey."

Everyone nodded, except for Kyle. He raised his hand. Clarice smacked it down, quipping, "What are you, twelve?"

Rogue sighed impatiently. "What is it, Kyle?"

"How do we all get back?"

Rogue set her chin determinably. "However you can manager it. I'll look for ya'll telepathically, if I can, reroute us for Clarice to pick us up, if it's manageable and she's got any fuel left in her, but a pre-determined meet up is just more info to be gained should any of us get harvested. Be a shame to go through all this just to get rounded up in one fell swoop at the end. Once we're separated, we stay separated until we're back under the jurisdiction of Magneto's sanctuary."

Kyle started to rebut her logic, but she stifled it with a stern look.

"You won't need to _say_ a thing if you're captured. They're not above using telepaths of their own."

"That's gonna be a long walk if Blinky here taps out," Kyle grumbled, earning him another elbow to the ribs from Clarice.

"Good thing you've got a healing factor then," Rogue groused, unbending. "We've got the cash Magneto leant us. Take a train if you dare it. Just don't go near Elysium, the tunnels, or even Central Park for that matter. They'll be watching those for sure. Got it? Good. Let's move it on out then."

They begun filing out of the conference room to the vegetable garden on the east side of the province. Amelia had arranged it to be temporarily abandoned to ensure their departure would be least noticed. Before Rogue could pass out the conference room doors, however, Magneto tugged her back with a magnetic grasp of the hot smack of Lanx on her cheek.

"Stop doing that," Rogue snapped at him. "I'm not your puppet."

He relented, exchanged that grasp of her with a palm lain along her upper arm, under the cloak, atop the silk he'd personally chosen for her. "Better?"

"Barely," she grizzled. "What's so important?" Memory of the shipment she discussed with Gambit came unbidden. It tempered her annoyance. Though she knew he wouldn't get it, she joked crankily, "Need me to stop at the store on the way?"

Magnus frowned, thrown off, and said, "No, of course not." His frown deepened and he ordered more than asked, "Switch with Logan."

"No."

"Erin can handle the safe house," he said rationally, attempting to persuade her. "As the head of Elysium's infirmary she's an emergency contact for the Underground, right, so the Messenger Contacts will respond to her, the other installations will too."

"Magneto, no," she repeated, shaking her head.

Ignoring her, he continued, "Logan could handle anything they come up against and survive to bring them back here."

"Lord Magneto, no."

His palm clenched, squeezing her arm in a tight grip. "What if they already know about it? You'll be exposed. You're already a prime target."

"Magnus, no."

He shook her once, harsh, to hush her. "Hollow and Erin won't be enough support for you, especially now, while you're like this. Do you want a repeat of last night? I don't."

"No," she said adamantly shaking her head, "of course not."

"Then let Wolverine go to the safe house with Erin and you go to Xavier. Even if they still bear a grudge, the X-Men will defend you if attacked."

She kissed him. It was abrupt, and quick, passionate and angry and desperate and stilling. It was also draining. He hadn't time for a magnetic field. Her lips were soft and the spot she sometimes chewed caught at him. Over too soon, he blinked at her with startled eyes.

"No, Erik," she told him once more. She gently pried his fingers off her silk-clad arm and held his hand between both of hers. He could feel the heat of her through the thin material of the gloves. "I won't bring soldiers into their halls. I just won't."

"I understand," he told her low and mesmerized, and weakened. It took effort to generate a substantial magnetic field around himself, but he managed it. He reached into the shadows of the hood to lift her chin, to bare her face to him, to search her eyes, to draw out another, lengthier kiss, but she jerked away. She took two steps back, just out of reach of his steady and earnest hands. His steely blues sparked like struck flint, heated and assaulted.

She was already apologizing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you. It gave you the wrong impression."

"Don't ever do that again," he said, cold and ironclad. "Not if you don't mean it."

"What if I did?" It was pained and eager all at once.

He tugged her toward him with a magnetic grasp of the Lanx. "Then you wouldn't be going at all today."

She didn't resist, but when she was near enough to hear his breathing, she erected a pane of Jean's telekinesis to halt his assertive reach for her. When both of his urgent, embracing hands collided with the invisible barrier, he shoved at it, shoved at her, wretched and righteous.

The hood tipped up towards him, indicating she was squaring herself against him, though her expression was muted in its shadows.

"Then don't take liberties with me that I can ill afford either," she told him pointedly. "You rule here, I get it. But, you can't be protecting me from this. It's my responsibility."

"It doesn't have to be," he told her gently. "I would gladly share it, if you would but let me."

"It's not a matter of letting you," she snapped vehemently. "The situation is fixed! That's all there is to it."

"But what if it wasn't?"

She halted at that. She took a long deep breath and let it out slowly, deflating with it. "It hurts," she anguished. "This dreaming and wasting… It's agonizing."

"I know," he said quietly. All the comfort he couldn't physically extend to her were in those two words.

"You fog up my scope, throw off my compass." She inhaled deeply again, let it out slowly again, but this time, she seemed to be filled up with the release. "And I have to stay focused right now."

He stiffened, but relented. "A compromise then, in the interim." He opened a drawer with his powers and levitated a small communication device to hover between them. "Take this. The center button will connect you directly to me." Before she could decline, he reminded her, "It will not give them any advantage they do not already possess should they track it back to me."

She hesitated, but finally lowered the pane of telekinesis between them so she could collect the device. "And the rest of it?"

His hands itched to hold hers as she cupped the device gingerly, but he abstained. "Come back and I will promise to try."

It was a courtesy he had only ever extended to Xavier, his oldest friend, and even then it was done so rarely. She understood this and accepted it.

"For better or worse," she reminded him dryly, "I always survive."

He watched her leave, bearing it with familiar stately grace.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"I'll take her from here," Hank said to the guard that served as Marlee's escort. He'd spotted them by chance as he was stepping out for a break. He'd stayed up working all night and hadn't eaten since before Évariste was brought on board.

"I'm under direct orders from Major Danvers," the guard responded soldierly.

"It's just at the end of the hall. There's nowhere else to take her. You can stand here and watch if you feel you have to."

"I'll follow."

"Suit yourself," he said as he scooped the sleepy girl into his gorilla-esque arms. A stuffed teddy bear dangled from one hand and she sucked on the thumb on her other one. "Don't do that too much or it'll melt away like a lollipop," he told her with a gentle smile.

She pulled it out and looked at it. "Is that why it's all wrinkly?"

He nodded.

"I shouldn't take so many baths then," she said in awe.

He laughed.

She smiled too, enamored with his cheerful furry face. She poked at his puffed out cheeks and giggled. "Did someone ani… anim… anime you too?"

He gave her a quizzical look as he tried to puzzle out how she connected Japanese cartoons to him.

Noticing his minor plight, she squeezed her eyes tight, and then hoisted her teddy bear up proudly. The teddy bear blinked and held out a stuffed paw of greeting to Hank. Beaming, she exclaimed, "Anime!"

Laughing jovially, he shook the bear's paw, finally getting it. "Ah, you animate things," he said, explaining what he remembered reading about her powers on the manifest list. "Make them seem alive."

"Anime!" She announced again.

"Well, that's a rare mutant power you have," he told her. "In fact, I've never come across it before. You see, I'm like this because—" he almost told her the truth, that it was through his own scientific carelessness, but decided it wasn't worth it, that she'd be scared enough of Essex as it was, so he simply finished with, "It's my own mutation. And, it lets me do this!"

He leapt, somersaulted in the air, kicked off the wall, flipped to kick off the other wall, and rolled to a soft landing on the pads of his feet—all with her cradled safely in his arms.

Her eyes were wide with delight. "Again!"

He laughed. "Maybe later," he told her with a ruffling of her hair. "After your visit with Max. You want to see him, right?"

Her eyes alit with hope. "Really?"

"Taking you there right now," he answered. "And if you're really good, I'll get you both a visit with Évariste this afternoon."

She bombarded him with a hug. "I like you! You look like cookie-monster, but you're much nicer."

Again, Hank erupted in laughter.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"Oh, hell," Erin laughed mirthlessly. "Did I ever mention that I don't like heights?" She gulped queasily and drew away from the rusted railing that wrapped the tower. Unfortunately, there was a chunk of the wall blown out behind her so she was stuck huddling unsteadily between the two.

Kyle whistled appreciatively. "Look at that view."

Polaris sighed unhappily. "There's so much rubble still."

Buildings and homes and streets were decimated for miles and miles, far as she could see. Magneto's province had restored several square miles of property around his citadel, but it was only a pin drop compared to what was left to reconstruct.

Havoc squeezed her hand. "It was a very destructive war."

"I thought it'd be better recovered by now," Taurus said depressingly.

"Takes longer than five years to rebuild this much damage," Rogue groused. "Manhattan held up okay, considering, but even there looks are deceiving. You know how many of the buildings are still empty shells. Too many people still live like squatters in 'em, what with records how they are now. Made it easy for us to slip in and establish Elysium, but it also made it easy for greedy people to snatch a lot of them up, leaving too many others homeless. Settling in as we have made it easy to ignore stuff like that."

"Ain't that the truth," Logan grunted. To Clarice, he asked, "Got your bearings yet?"

"Yeah," Blink said and folded the map. "Just not sure where to shoot the bolt up here. Cramped quarters and all."

Rogue looked around and frowned. "We gotta scoot closer together so you can do it on the grating. We'll have to jump into it."

Erin looked at the grated walkway they stood on, at the far away ground visible through it, and paled. "You've got to be kidding me."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"Max!" Soon as she spotted him, Marlee squirmed out of Hank's furry hold and ran at him with an excited girlish squeal.

"Marlee," Max slurred. Despite the lethargy to his movements, he seemed happy to see her.

Marlee spun an accusatory look on Val and Essex. "What's wrong with him?"

The teddy bear she had dropped in her excited run marched towards Carol and kicked her with its plushy foot. Carol coughed to cover a laugh. She sought an accomplice for her amusement in Hank, but he only gave her a concerned and resolute stare.

"You sedated him, Essex?" Hank asked, speaking of Max. "You're not permitted anesthesia because you're barred from performing surgical procedures while on board. Who gave it to you?"

"It was merely a Dramamine," Essex said. "The poor boy had trouble falling asleep last night."

"I wonder why," Marlee grumbled as she eyed Essex warily.

"My sentiments exactly," Hank said. He looked from Essex to Carol. "I suppose this isn't simply a friendly visit for them is it?"

Carol pursed her lips. It bothered her immensely to have Hank group her with Essex. "Val wants the location to the safe house."

"At what cost?"

"It's just a few questions," Carol huffed. Quieter, for Hank's ears only, she hissed, "It's not torture!"

"We'll see," Hank said as he watched Essex transferred a vial of blood to a machine that would spin it until its components separated.

"You're staying?" Carol asked, offended. His lack of trust in her bothered her almost as much as his grouping her with Essex.

"Most assuredly," Hank answered. He joined Marlee at Max's bed. "Are you going to introduce me to your brother, Marlee?"

"Max, this is Hank," she said. She leaned in to whisper in childish conspiracy. "He's not the cookie monster nor a big anime teddy bear. He's more like a roller coaster you can hug."

Hank smiled kindly. "It's good to finally meet you, Max," he said and meant it. "Your sister has quite the imagination, but I'd expect nothing less of someone with such a creative mutant power."

"Marlee doesn't have a power," Max said haughtily. "She's too young. I'm two minutes older so she won't get hers until _after_ I get mine and that won't be for years. Évariste told me so."

"I do too have a power," Marlee countered adamantly. "I can anime!" She retrieved the teddy bear, which was still kicking futilely at Carol's foot, and set it on Max's chest. Giggling proudly, she said, "I made him like this."

Max ogled the bear enviously as it teetered atop him playing hide-and-seek with his blanket. He scrunched up his face in anger and smacked it off him, sending it sailing to the floor.

"Ow!" Marlee exclaimed. Tears pooled in her eyes. "That hurt!"

Hank fetched the bear for Marlee and then picked her up to comfort her. He watched Marlee examine the bear for injury before she calmed down and hugged it.

"Don't be mad," Hank told Max and he coddled Marlee. "Sometimes, when a person experiences something very traumatic, something very hurtful to them, their hearts and minds overload from it, and thus, early onset of mutation can occur. From what I hear, it happened to Marlee when she thought she lost you."

"So what?" Max complained stubbornly. "She's a brat. She never leaves me alone."

"It may seem bothersome now, perhaps," Hank explained, "But that's part of being a big brother. It's an important duty. However, if you can't handle it, I will gladly…"

"I can do it!" Max exclaimed, interrupting him. "She's _my_ sister. So what if she can make her stupid doll move. I'm still bigger and stronger."

"Ah, well," Hank said with dramatic disappointment. "I guess I have to find another little girl to protect."

Max eyed him up and down. Finally, he said, "Okay, you can help."

"Very gracious of you," Hank said and bowed. He was amused, but he returned the boy's serious expression. "Well then, as our first duty, I think we should try and get you and your sister back home to your family. What do you think?"

"Yeah, you're prob'ly right," Max agreed.

"Where is your home," Hank asked.

"Elysium!" Marlee announced.

Her tears had finally dried up. She squirmed, showing she wanted down and Hank set her on Max's bed. He watched a moment as she let the stuffed bear loose to move around the bed, inspecting it with newborn curiosity. Hank wondered how much of it was the bear's own inclination versus a reflection of Marlee's.

"Elysium is a wreck, though," Hank said, genuinely saddened. "Is there somewhere you're supposed to go if you can't go there?"

"Mmm-hmm," Marlee nodded.

Max leaned in to them and spoke in what he thought was a whisper. It was breathy all right, but it was still loud. "The safe house."

"Ahh," Hank said. "That makes sense. Where is it?"

Max frowned. "We're not supposed to tell. It's a secret."

"Oh, of course," Hank said. "Can't be very safe if just anyone can know about it. However, I can't get you there if you don't tell me how to find it. Can you do it on your own? I might be able to procure you a flying vessel, maybe even a car for after you land. Are either of you trained as a pilot? Do you have driver's licenses?"

"Of course not," Marlee giggled. The teddy echoed her silently. It shook and held it's belly, giving physicality to what it couldn't voice.

Max showed him wide eyes. "I wish I was a pilot!"

Hank stroked his chin in a show of contemplation. "I'm licensed for both, but I don't know how to get to the safe house. What should we do?"

Marlee and Max shared a long look. They came to a decision with it and Max relayed it.

"Long island," Max said. "Bayville."

"We never remember the exact address," Marlee said shyly. "We got it wrong on the test and the make-up. Mrs. Evans said we couldn't go on another field trip until we got it right."

"Can you find it on a map?" Carol piped in. She was already typing on the keypad of the digital device on her forearm. She pointed it at a blank expanse of the wall and a projection of a street map of Southeast New York appeared.

"No," Max said and frowned. "We weren't going over that until next week."

"Have you ever been there?" Carol asked.

"Oh, yes," Marlee said. "We had a field trip there before the first test."

Carol pressed a few more keys and the projection changed to an old video surveillance view. It zoomed into the small beach town of Bayville and cantered along some of the streets.

"Ooh," Max said excitedly, pointing. "That's where we ate. Remember, Marlee? I put ketchup on your sundae!"

Marlee made a face at the memory. "It was icky."

"Yeah, but then Évariste bought you another one to make up for it." Max pouted. "You got two. Lucky."

They continued like that, Max and Marlee telling snippets of their field trip and pointing out landmarks of their journey, until the location was finally determined.

"When do we go?" Max asked excitedly.

Hank searched his head for an answer, a lie, but came up wanting.

"Not for a while," Carol supplied. "First, he'll need to check it out on his own. Make sure it wasn't compromised, like Elysium was."

Max nodded gravely, accepting it.

"Why are you helping us?" Marlee asked Carol in child-like curiosity.

"Duh," Max said, "She's Hank's friend."

"You don't remember her?" Marlee asked it with surprise. "She's the one that put you here."

Max remembered with a gasp and very scared wide eyes. He whispered then, a real whisper, "The glowy gun."

"Shh, shh," Hank said, comforting him with a gentle pat to his back. "It's okay. She only did it to get you away from the fighting," he lied and felt sick with it. "To keep you safe." He turned to Carol, piercing her with an expression that brokered no room for her to gainsay him. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes," Carol said with a heavy heart. "No matter what else happens, I do want you and your sister to get out of this safe and happy."

"Can we go see Évariste now," Marlee asked, her tone was thick with homesickness. "I was good, wasn't I?"

"Later," Essex said before Hank could say otherwise. "First, I have to give you both a check up."

"I'm not sick," Max said.

"Me neither," Marlee added.

"That may be," Essex said with his creepy grin, "But, don't you want to find out if we can get your powers to come out too, Max."

"You can do that?" Max asked excitedly.

"I am going to try," Essex said.

"I can't stay for this," Hank said horridly and headed for the door. He turned back with a heated warning to Essex, "They better be unharmed when Évariste sees them."

Essex tipped his head in acquiescence. The creepy, sharp-toothed grin never left. In fact, it grew ever larger after Hank exited.

"Don't leave them alone with him for any reason," Carol told Marlee's guard who'd been waiting silently just inside the lab doors. "I want a full report afterwards."

The guard nodded his soldierly assent and Carol chased after Hank.

"McCoy," she called, halting him. When she caught up to him, she asked, "Why'd you do it?"

"I thought it a kindness, at first," He said ruefully. "Because I'd be gentler. And yet…" He shook his head and sighed. "I don't think I helped them, not really."

"You did," Carol said.

"I made them trust you," Hank said. "That was a disfavor to them."

Carol frowned, her jaw clenching. "I meant what I said to them."

"What does it matter what you want," Hank said. "In the end, you'll follow Val's orders."

"Not on this…" Carol shook her head adamantly. She faced him squarely, confidently. "I promise I'll do all in my power to see them off this ship and as good as new."

Hank laughed despairingly. "After treatment by Essex? Oh, they'll be new, I'm sure. So new their parents will hardly recognize them."

With that he left her and returned to his own lab to continue his work at saving the world one strain of Lanx at a time.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Rogue threw back the hood and walked the streets of Bayville with her head held high. She didn't bother tapping Mystique's power for a disguise as of yet because it would do little to hide Hollow's sharp appearance. More accepted or not, mutants with extreme differences, especially those unknown in an area, still garner at lot of stares and whispers, increased attention by way of obvious avoidance. Therefore, disguising herself would do little for the group blending in as they traipsed to the safe house.

Instead, she employed Jean's telepathy. To every mind within a block she whispered, _There goes Anna, Yvette, and Erin on their regular walk around town._ Over and over she repeated it until it was like a well-known song off the radio. With every step they advanced, she scanned anew, adding any additional minds within a one-block radius of the trio to the redundant persuasion and loosing those that had moved beyond it. The subtle trick was so effective that even Hollow seemed to relax: her posture straightening and her gait relaxing. Hollow even ventured to return a wave of greeting to a friendly little girl riding a tricycle trailing ribbons from the handlebars. The child's mother had glanced up in precaution, but upon seeing with whom her daughter was being friendly, she nodded as though to say, _oh, it's just Yvette again_.

And it was taxing. The effect barely outweighed the physical and mental exertion it required of Rogue. By the time they entered the safe house, Rogue's brow was damp with sweat, her breathing was akin to panting, and the hot smack of Lanx on her cheek had expanded to encompass most of that side of her face—strips of it splayed across her temple, her nose, and her jaw.

Erin grew concerned.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Trees arched picturesquely over the road, shading it pleasantly. Birds twittered nearby, the leaves shivered excitedly in the light breeze. Logan smelled the comforts of home and other things.

"I think we're being followed," Monet said as she and Logan walked the long private drive that lead to the gates of Xavier's estate and school.

"Yup," Logan said unconcerned. "Expected as much."

"Should I lower the hood now?"

"No," he said. "Wait until we reach the gates. We want them thinking you're Rogue as long as we can."

"Just not so long that they seek to infiltrate the school."

"That's the plan," Logan affirmed.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"I'm bored," Kyle whined.

They were sitting at a patio table outside a small café in downtown that was ironically named _The Underground Café_. It was so obvious that it served a perfect cover for itself. None of their members had a hand in creating it, but once discovered, they couldn't resist using it, tongue-in-cheek, as it was.

"Too bad," Clarice said. She took a sip of soda before eating more of her turkey wrap. "I just teleported more than three hundred miles over a few dozen trips in under two hours. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and since you're just here as muscle—"

"But good looking muscle," he joked.

"—you will suck it up until I'm ready."

"Blah, blah, blah," he said, smiling cheekily. He pointed across the street and to the right, to the Princeton Library Courtyard, and added, "Lets go over there and mack for a while."

Clarice swallowed another bite of her sandwich down with a swig of soda. "Dumb ass." But she grinned when she said it.

"We wouldn't be the only ones," he said. "I've counted at least six sets of co-eds slobbering all over each other since we got here."

"Liar. There's not been more than four." Another bite, another swallow. "And stop staring at the blue haired girl with all the cleavage."

He chuckled good-naturedly, and let her eat a while in peace. After a few minutes, he asked, "Did you ever want to go to college?"

"Oh, would you just shut up, already!" Havoc exclaimed. It drew several startled looks from other patrons and passersby.

Clarice smiled, but put a calming hand on his forearm to still him. "You have to just ignore him when he gets like this."

"What's his problem?"

Clarice shrugged. "He's like Logan. His adrenaline got him all riled up, but he's not had a chance to use it. Makes him a little stir crazy. That means he's a motor mouth or pricking a fight with the locals. This is better, believe me. You'll get used to it. Like white noise."

"Not likely," Havoc told her with a frown. He stretched out in his chair and let out a long sigh. "Why couldn't I have gotten Lorna's assignment instead?"

"Because, my sunshine-loving friend," she said. She took a last draught off her straw until it gurgled unpleasantly around the ice, and then stood. "Then you wouldn't have gotten to meet the Cuckoos."

Three blond females approached. They all had iron-straight brilliant platinum blond hair that shone in the late morning sun. Their sky-blue eyes all blinked in synch. And though their clothing was not exactly matched, they each extended an identically Princeton sweater clad arm to offer a hand in greeting.

"Welcome, friends," the Cuckoos said in unison.

"Well met," Clarice replied formally. She shook each of their hands.

"With whom," the left-most Cuckoo, Esmee, began.

"Do you wish," the central Cuckoo, Celeste, continued.

"To contact?" finished Sophie, the right-most Cuckoo. She was the only one to appear infected with Lanx. It was a crawling patch that wrapped her right calf and knee, bared below her pleated skirt.

"This just proves it," Havoc said. "You're all crazy."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"See that clock tower?" Taurus asked Polaris.

They were standing in Temple Square in New Haven Connecticut. All around them was the rebuilding hustle and bustle of Yale life.

"Yeah," answered Polaris.

"There's a bell up there. When it hits thirteen after the hour, ring it."

"Thirteen times, I suppose?"

Taurus nodded.

"And who will this supposedly conjure."

"The Hellfire club," Taurus supplied. He managed to look a mite bit sheepish when he added, "So rumors say."

"You've never done it before?"

He shook his head, no. "Rogue has, but she also put out a psychic call with it. Here's hoping it'll do just as well."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Mystique opened the door out of her all-metal room to find Gambit leaning nonchalantly against the wall directly across from her.

"What do you want?" She snapped crankily. It was already later than she'd intended. Rogue apparently took more out of her than she'd expected. She figured Rogue did it to make sure she didn't have time to follow her to the safe house before tracking down Forge.

"To see y' off," Gambit said with a sly grin.

Mystique scoffed and continued down the hall. "You know, you would contribute more if you just got out of everyone's way. Go back to the X-Men already."

"Oh, I intend to contribute," he said as he fell into step beside her. "Just need to hitch a ride down south first."

Mystique stopped so abruptly he stepped right past her. He turned back to her, which she must have anticipated, because she used the motion to her advantage by grabbing his collar and swinging him into the wall. Her knee sprang up between his legs, making him stand on tiptoe to keep from being bruised in a sensitive location.

"Spill it, Cajun," she hissed. She produced a knife and hoisted it against his abdomen. "Or I spill you."

His smile cooled a few degrees to a temperate expression. "Not dat hard to guess Forge down in Cape Canaveral. He's de great new hope at restoring global satellite communication to its former glory, hein? Dieu, woman, it just a matter of putting two an' two toget'er."

She lowered the knife… to just above her uplifted knee.

Gambit raised his brows.

"And your plans?" She inquired.

"Get off in N'awlins. What else?" He asked… and winked.

She rolled her eyes and released him. "I suppose you're meeting Belladonna Boudreaux. Or is it still LeBeau?"

Gambit had the grace to wince. "She never took my name, mais oui, de divorce was final il y a trios ans." _Three years ago._ "But I t'ink y' already knew dat."

"Information is often the trade I ply," she said in answer. She smiled wryly at him. "But I think you already knew that."

"Oui," he said, "Same as Bella nowadays."

"And what is it you expect to learn from her?"

"De topic nobody's broached since I been here. Ironic too, since it's what started all dis."

"The murders."

"Mighty convenient dat dey stopped soon as Rogue was exposed," he drawled.

"You think it was a set up from the start?"

Gambit shrugged, non-committal. "If so, it be a long way to go, especially since dey could've just ambushed a Messenger meeting with Deathbird. She seems to be sharing deir coop, n'est-ce pas?"

"True enough," she said and eyed him closer. "But there's something else, too, isn't there?"

"How did dey manage to mimic her powers? De Lanx… dat could be explained at a stretch… but de drain… Dat be harder to duplicate, oui?"

"I wondered that myself," she mused.

"Great minds t'ink alike," he said with another wink. She was starting to wonder if he had a tick.

They rounded a corner and she noticed the backpack swinging on his shoulder. "I see you're all packed to go."

"Just a few essentials," he replied.

"Funny," Mystique said humorlessly, "You didn't have it when you arrived here."

"What can I say," Remy explained with a mischievous chuckle, "Remy's resourceful."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"Rogue," Erin complained worriedly, "At least let me do the contacts so you can rest more."

"No time," Rogue said. Her voice was scratchy with Lanx. Patches of it peaked out the top of her neckline, the ends of her sleeves, her gloves, and even around her ankles. And that was all that Erin could see because the jeans and charcoal grey shirt that Magneto loaned her covered the rest of her body.

Rogue rose shakily to her feet. "On second thought," she told Erin, "Go ahead and send a message to Cypher and Locke in Chicago. Tell them only the following: Helicarrier. Encrypted drives. Deathbird breach. Then you need to purge the system." She shoved her. "Go!"

Erin stammered confusedly at Rogue's sudden harsh treatment. "I don't…"

"Carol's here!" Rogue snapped at her. "Now go!"

Erin stumbled off to her task and Rogue dragged Hollow telekinetically to the door. They positioned themselves on either side of it and waited.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"You have a helicopter?" Remy asked, genuinely surprised.

"The information industry is lucrative," Mystique said.

"Where's de pilot?"

Mystique grinned.

Gambit sighed. "I'd be worried if I t'ought you were suicidal."

They climbed in and Mystique ran through the pre-flight sequence expertly. The blades whirred overhead.

"Gonna take all day dis way," Remy said after he thought about it. "How many times we gonna refuel?"

"None."

Remy's response was jarred from his lips by their lifting off.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Monet St. Croix examined Cerebro with awe. "Can you really reach the mind of any person on the entire planet with it?"

"Given enough time and effort, yes," Xavier answered.

"Can you affect aliens? The Technarch? The Phalanx?"

Xavier became grave. "Yes."

"Why didn't you—"

"Let him work," Logan chastised her. She huffed haughtily, but obeyed. It was a long while before anyone else spoke.

"I've found them," Xavier said at length. "Rogue was right. Val is on the Helicarrier along with Cal'syee. Several mutants are also there. Unfortunately, so is Essex. There is good news though," Xavier added. "Dr. Henry McCoy is also on board."

"Hank is up there?"

Xavier disengaged Cerebro and removed the helmet. "Yes. He is working on a research project placed under SHIELDs supervision."

"Where are they?"

"They are over the Indian Ocean, and moving easterly."

"Madripoor," Logan spat it like a curse. "Has to be where they're headed. But why? The Underground only has light contracts with Harada, and he doesn't branch out much past Tokyo since the war. Outside that, I can't think of any dealings they have in Madripoor. Place is worse than a cesspool since the war."

"Maybe it's unrelated," Xavier offered. "What I gleamed from Fury didn't include machinations regarding the Underground."

"Val's just piggybacking?" Logan asked in consideration. "I could see that. What about Carol? Was she there? Could be that Rogue was wrong. We never did see Val at Elysium."

"Carol wasn't present on the Helicarrier," Xavier said and frowned. "The Underground was definitely a high priority topic for Val." He massaged his temples. "I'll probe deeper after a short break."

"I could continue the search," Monet volunteered with eager confidence. "I'm a very skilled telepath."

"No," Logan and Xavier said simultaneously.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Rogue hugged the right side of the door while Hollow hugged the left. Both were poised for Carol's imminent entrance.

_I'll yank Carol through_, Rogue told Hollow telepathically, _You take the operative behind her_.

_And the third?_ Hollow thought in return.

_We'll race for him_, Rogue quipped. _On one, two…_

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Deathbird teleported Carol and two operatives a few homes from the safe house.

"Com check," Carol announced via her own unit. It was a less advanced version of what they utilized to infiltrate Elysium because they were maintaining cover amongst the civvies.

"Levitt check." Levitt booted up the camera link built into the crude glasses that changed their shade based upon the amount of light that reflected on them. "Eye-live."

"Check Hudson." Hudson's video transmitted static so he tapped his glasses. It cleared. "On-line."

"Okay, people," Carol told them. She read from the digital device wrapped on her forearm. It was the only equipment they couldn't better disguise. They hoped people would only see the devices at a distance and mistake them for music players or something. "Scans show three mobiles inside so we're going in hot. Levitt, you take the back. Hudson, you're up front with me. Clear the floor and meet by the stairs. Everyone reading the prints?"

Hudson and Levitt both typed up the schematics to the house and replied, "Got it" and "I'm blue."

"We suspect the first floor to hold first aid and sleeping areas as well as a kitchen." Carol told them. "We hit those last. The computers and portals should be on the second floor. That's our priority."

They slinked along the back fences of the comely clapboard bungalow homes. They could hear the waves that broke and sucked at the shore only a single street over. At the fourth house, a white washed two-story with plum shutters and trim, they took their position.

"Hold for my mark," Carol told Levitt before she and Hudson splintered off, stalking around to the front.

Hudson peaked in through a window to find a room containing a pink canopy bed and shelves of stuffed animals. "Sure this is the right place?"

"Down to the brass knocker on the door," Carol assured him.

They creeped up front stoop, Carol first and Hudson watching her back.

"Okay," Carol told them steadily. "On one, two…" Something nagged at the back of her mind like a seventh sense. "No, wait!"

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Hank brushed crumbs out of his fur as he entered the infirmary. He waved his half-eaten sandwich in greeting to patients and co-workers alike as he ambled to Évariste's bed.

"Morning," Hank told Évariste, purposely leaving off the 'good' as he figured there wasn't much good about it for either of them. He pulled out the clipboard at the foot of the bed and perused the details of Évariste's condition since he left. Before he completed a cursory observation of it, Dr. Kerr Benedict, the intern, joined him.

"Two pints over night and another this morning," Kerr told Hank.

"But no more synaptic attacks?"

"Not so far, no," Kerr replied.

"Good," Hank said and smiled genuinely at Évariste. "Keep it up and Marlee and Max can come for a visit."

Évariste gave a small bow of his head and managed to make it seem elegant and worldly. "Thank you," he said with immense relief.

"I do my best," Hank told him as he replaced the clipboard. He moved on towards another patient, a Lanx victim whose only chance at escaping her coma rested on Hank's succeeding in his research.

Kerr gave Évariste an amiable departing nod and followed Hank.

"I need you to do a check-up on the kids when they're brought in," Hank told Kerr as soon as they were out of earshot of Évariste. "They're with Essex now," Hank offered in explanation.

Kerr's mouth opened in a silent and dreadful oh. "No problem," he promised.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"T'ought we weren't refueling?" Remy asked condescendingly.

"We're not," Mystique said and unbuckled her safety restraints. She exited the helicopter. The blades hadn't even completely stopped rotating yet.

"Wait!" Remy called after her as he scrambled to catch up. He did, but only as she entered a hanger. Traipsing along beside her, they passed stored helicopters and planes alike, and then out the other side. "Where are we going?"

"To my plane, of course," Mystique answered. Without looking at him, she grinned. "Trade has been very lucrative."

He eyed the small Cessna grumpily as they approached it. "De X-Men's is bigger."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

_Three!_

Carol's seventh sense rang, but it wasn't soon enough. Soon as she had grabbed the door handle it was yanked open from the other side with such tremendous force that she thought her arm would go with it. Jerked off-kilter, she pitched forward, tripping over her own two feet. She would've fallen too, if an invisible force hadn't gripped her round her middle and flung her across the room. She landed hard on the couch, rolling it over, and crashing into a wall. She pulled herself to her feet in time to see something red and black, all keen-edged limbs and spike-tipped, slice through the door in two swipes while clawing at Hudson. Then Rogue, suede hood half-drawn, blocked her view.

"Rogue, wait," Carol said with hands raised to placate her, "It's not what you think."

"Promises, promises," Rogue said as she edged forward. There was a maddening gleam in her eyes, which were rimmed with the Lanx. It was visibly advancing along her skin with every step. Fine fibers of it gleamed silver in her hair.

"I can help you," Carol tried explaining.

In the background, Hudson fired a stunner but it pinged off of Hollow's gem-hard exterior.

"Oh, shut up, already," Rogue all but growled. She thrust her gloved hand forward, covering Carol's mouth and roughly pinching Carol's cheeks and jaw. With a boost from Jean's telekinesis, she lifted Carol slowly off the ground.

"Drop her," Levitt said. He stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Behind him, the back door swung ominously closed. He had one of the pulsing guns trained on Rogue.

"Kiss my ass," Rogue said.

"If you insist," Levitt said as he lowered his trajectory and fired. Ching-phoom…thmp.

"Levitt, no!" Carol yelled, too late. It wouldn't have mattered anyways, since the hold Rogue had on her mouth made it come out more like _eh-weht wo_.

Rogue whipped Carol in its path and lurched behind the knocked-over couch for cover. The ammo missed them both, lodging into a book on the lower shelf of a bookcase along the front wall. Like before, kinked tendrils arced through it and around it before it split apart, dispersing like dust particles in a shaft of sunlight.

Ching-phoom…thmp. The couch fizzled into nothingness like air escaping carbonated water. It gave Rogue a clear view of Carol coming towards her, of Hollow's tackling interruption, and of Levitt firing in response. Ching-phoom…thmp.

Rogue guessed it would ping off Hollow's skin like the other ammo did, but fearing that it might instead grab onto the leather straps that wrapped her, Rogue erected a pane of telekinesis to block it. To her dismay, it worked. The disk-like projectile smacked the pane and bounced away, right at her own face. It latched onto the Lanx on her cheek as rigidly as if Magneto pressed it there himself. She scrabbled at it with her fingers and Jean's telekinesis until she saw the blue-white tendrils curl down around her feet and begin its climb back up her legs. Clenching her jaw with grim determination, she thrust her right hand forward and to the side, telekinetically hurling Levitt through the kitchen out the rear door. She shoved her left hand out, clenching it to grip Carol and drag her telekinetically out the shredded front door, toppling her over Hudson's unconscious form on the stoop. Feeling her cells breaking apart, she plied the whole of Jean's telekinetic might to hold herself together long enough to call out telepathically to Hollow and Erin.

_Hollow, get Erin out of here! Both of you get out! Go!_

_But I'm not done purging the system_, Erin thought back to her in complaint, to no response. _Rogue?_ She bore down with her own powers and searched for Rogue's biological presence, for the Lanx that was surely roaring over Rogue's immune system, but her powers sensed no sign of it. _Rogue!?!_

Something crunched at the door Erin had locked behind her.

"Hollow, that you?" Erin asked dumbly, knowing the girl couldn't or at least wouldn't answer. "Yvette?"

Something hit the door again and it splintered. Erin flinched, transformed the awesome energy of fear to speed as she spun around and initiated another sectional purge, trying to finish as many as she could before whoever was there got through. She didn't stop when she heard the wood tear apart and pieces of it spat at her back and the floor. She completed the fourth sectional purge and she raced for one more as she heard the creaking of leather followed by several pronounced snaps. She barely managed to hit the enter button when she learned the reason for the strange sounds. Hollow had stripped several of the leather belts off her legs and used them to tie a length of brown leather, which looked remarkably like it had come from the couch downstairs, around her arm and shoulder. Suitably safe, Hollow used that arm to swoop hold of Erin and haul them both out the window, into the tree outside.

Fffft…thunk. Ffffft…thunk. They didn't see who shot them, but two stunner rounds lodged into the trunk and a branch as Hollow clambered through the tree, chopping twigs and leaves that cluttered their way with her unbound hand. Then they were sailing through the air, crashing through a cluster of leaves of a tree in the next yard over. Another break from the whipping foliage as Hollow leapt atop a roof. Her claws shucked shingles with every step and more so at her rapid change of direction to dive to the detached garage, then the shed on the other side of a chain link fence, and into another set of trees. Erin was slung unceremoniously over her shoulder all the way.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"We're getting close," Mystique told him. "You better get ready."

Remy patted the stuffed backpack he'd procured back in Magneto's province. "Always."

"Not this time." Mystique laughed. "Chutes are in the back. Hook onto the rail. I'll open the doors from here."

"Oh, no," Remy said a little queasily. "I ain't jumpin'."

"And I'm not stopping," she said quite seriously. "I've wasted enough time as it is."

"Nuh-uh," Remy said and crossed his arms in a pout. "You're landing. You probably need to refuel anyways."

"I do, but not here." She tried not to laugh at his sudden lack of bravado. "Look, Remy. I might not like you, but I do like Rogue enough that I don't want her to hate me for causing you to be captured and tortured either."

"Mais, but Remy-de-splat be just fine."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring him. "If I land, someone will notice. Val will eventually be informed. You will be tracked down."

"And nobody will notice a dis Cajun flailing through the clouds squawking in terror like a shorn parrot?"

"Count to ten, then pull the cord," she explained. "The chute will do the rest. Even an idiot could handle it." She looked him up and down. "Then again, you do seem dumber than the usual men she bats her eyes at."

"Really instillin' de confidence here," Remy croaked.

"Thirty seconds, Remy," she droned. "Tick-tock."

Remy swallowed nervously. "You gonna come back by and pick me up?"

Mystique nodded, though it was obvious she didn't like it.

Remy mustered up his courage and put on a parachute pack. "If I die, I'm gonna haunt you."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Air roared by, faster and faster until the sound of it numbed into a long ago song, a melody that couldn't quite be recalled in any definitive detail.

And light. It was everywhere. All the colors known to man, and more, more than the eye could encompass. A billion times over, they reflected and refracted, doubling back, changing, muting, extracting, penetrating, eviscerating, blinding, and yet, magnifying the entire universe over and over again. The sun was over there and the moon just to the side here. Planets and stars swirled by in a rush. Another sun sped by and then another and another. Stars upon stars blurred past. Each paused in a flash of the refracted light accompanied by a cacophony of breaths and voices and cries and laughter before moving on so quickly it might never have been there in the first place.

She traveled like this through space and time as though she had been dispersed evenly inside all the individual brilliant particles of a spatter of diamond dust. And then that dust swooped down into earth's atmosphere. Hot and ill tempered, it cut through the air. Agile and pushy, it squeezed between molecules of metal and wires and plastic and glass and then stopped, fused into place.

Rogue blinked.

Deathbird grinned triumphantly from the other side of the bars. She activated the com-link to Val. "Got her."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Remy pulled out his phone and dialed the familiar but not recently used number. Three rings and a sassy, spirited, feminine Creole twang answered. It was slightly tinny through the poor reception. He chuckled mirthlessly as he realized how near it was to Rogue's when she was riled up… and the Lanx had a grip on her vocal chords.

"Bella," he said. "It's Remy. Come an' get me. We need to talk."

A heavy sigh. "What is it? I'm busy."

"Non," Remy said. "I'm not saying another word until my feet are planted on solid ground. Hell, on anything solid."

That got her attention. He could almost picture her fair eyebrows lifting and knitting in curiosity when she asked, "Where are y?"

"De Superdome," he said and batted a length of the parachute out of his view. "East side, from de looks of it."

"Dere's a big game dere today. Grand re-opening and all. Lots o' people. I don't feel like fishing t'rough all o' dem. Can y' be a little more specific?"

"Oh, y'll see me. I'm outside, doing m' best impression of a flag." He closed the phone and pocketed it. He glanced down the length of his body to the ground very far below. He hoped she was quick. He didn't know how long the snagged chute would carry his weight.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Marlee and Max bounded to Évariste's bed as soon as they spotted him. Évariste got so excited in response that the rapidity of his heart monitor drew Kerr in a panicked rush. Seeing the three hugging and giggling and making merry re-acquaintance, Kerr smiled in return. He knew he needed to check up on their physical condition per Hank's request, but for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to spoil their reunion just yet. He leaned against a bed not too far away and just watched. It was one of the first joyful moments he'd encountered since he began his internship there and he was going to enjoy it for all it was worth.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Rogue clanged against the bars as she thrust her hands at Deathbird's throat. "I'll kill you!"

"Probably," Deathbird said with a pompous sneer. "If you could reach me. Hence the power dampener."

Seething, and needing an outlet for her anger, Rogue retracted her arms, grabbed the bars and squeezed until her Lanx-ridden knuckles turned white. She shook the bars, which didn't budge. She ignored that fact and yanked on them again anyways. She also ignored how threads of Lanx snaked off her hands to probe and coil around the bars until—

Deathbird laughed at the sight. "Look at you. You're pathetic, just a diseased waste of flesh and breath. I hope they put you out of your misery after the Underground's dismantled."

Deathbird leaned in close, close enough she was sure her triumphant breaths heated Rogue's fingers despite being so thoroughly encased with the living circuitry of the Lanx. "And I hope they let me do it."

Rogue grinned as though she welcomed the idea of it.

—the coils merged with the bars. Lanx wasn't only attracted to flesh. It also liked metal, especially when that metal had access to computerized technology. Suddenly, Rogue found a reason to appreciate her… condition.

Deathbird's smug satisfaction faltered. She eased back from the cell. "What are you doing?"

"Me? Nothing," Rogue said. "You're the one that shut down my powers." Rogue smiled acidulously. "Jean's powers. Remember?"

Rogue watched the Lanx crawling up and down the cell bars. She watched it leap from one bar to the next. She felt the bars being eaten by the biotech disease as if now the Lanx were a conduit that connected her to them. Both sources fed it equally and yet incised its hunger all the more. Faster and faster the Lanx spread. Soon the silvery threads through her hair corded and joined the romp of their siblings at her fingers. As though jealous of its brethren, strands of Lanx pushed through the leather of her shoes to seek out some of the cell for themselves. When her Lanx breached the electronics that tied the cell to its computer guidance system, Rogue felt a surge of energy and information like something alien and alive, as though by connecting the two, the Lanx lent the electronics her sentience and her its electricity. As amazing as it all felt, that's not what Rogue wanted. She didn't want to be part of the ship. She just wanted access to release herself.

"Shit," Rogue swore, beginning to panic. Through the Lanx, she was merging with the cell's technology as much as it was merging to her. Whatever made her think she could actually influence the biotech virus to her own intent was the result of an angry delusion. The combined might of Jean's powers and the fix, when it was solid and healthy, odd a thought as it was, barely kept the Lanx in check, and even then, it was a daily struggle.

Rogue yanked hard on her arms, trying to detach her hands from the bars. They pulled away like taffy. Strands of Lanx stretched and sagged between her fingers—which were more like finger shaped circuitry now—and the bars, reminding her nauseatingly like melted mozzarella when she took the first slice from a hot-out-of-the-oven pizza.

Deathbird's eyes widened when a wiry strand of Lanx burst from the cell's control panel and wiggled towards her. She sped the few steps to the small bank of video screens and the security console below them. She smacked her hand on the emergency alert button. A klaxon blared in repeated successions. Red lights popped out of the walls near the ceiling all over the Helicarrier.

"Security breach in holding four," Deathbird announced over the intercom. Her words echoed a split second later over speakers throughout the Helicarrier.

It had been exactly the wrong thing to do. Rogue's Lanx was now a part of the security system. It knew what the activation of the emergency button meant. It also knew how to protect itself. It opened Rogue's cell. And that, Rogue quickly realized, turned off the power dampener.

Jean's powers snapped back into existence inside of Rogue and the first thing she did with it was to pull on the Lanx, try to force it to retreat back into her. To her surprise, a magnetic field rose around her with the act of it. She had absorbed Magneto briefly before embarking on her mission to contact the other Underground installations and his power was still fresh in her storage bank and eager for use. Between the two mutant's combined powers, Rogue enacted a modicum of control over her Lanx. Through the Lanx's connection with the security system, she locked the door leading out of the holding area.

"Oh, Cal'syee," Rogue purred electronically. "You really shouldn't have betrayed me."

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

_Istanbul was Constantinople—Now it's Istanbul not Constantinople—Been a long time gone—Old Constantinople's still has Turkish delight—On a moonlit night…*_

Remy's cell phone was ringing, so he answered it. Wasn't like he was busy with anything other than dangling there off the roof of the superdome.

"Allo, Belle," he answered, leaving off the _you found me yet?_ Her laughter had been her telephonic greeting and it was answer enough. He grabbed the chute and pulled it to completely cover himself, which only increased her laughter. With a sigh, he told her, "Call me back when y'r done."

He hung up the phone and pocketed it.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Tessa closed her eyes like she was trying to will away her growing headache. "I don't suppose it would be too much to ask that the idiot who is so insistently ringing that bell has nothing to do with you contacting me?"

Xavier almost smiled when he answered her via cerebra's boosting of his telepathy. "I believe it would."

He got the mental image of her blowing the long purposeful curl of blue-black hair off her face in a huff before she continued, "And would it be too much to hope that this person isn't a particular Messenger for the Underground?"

"It isn't her," Xavier told her. "But it is a trusted associate of hers. I urge you to meet with them."

"Them? You began with the singular, but ended with the plural. Who else is there?"

"An associate of Magneto's."

"Are they ganging up on you?"

Logan and M couldn't see it for sure, but it seemed a full out smile broke across Xavier's face just then. "No," he assured Tessa. "Nothing of the sort."

"Okay," Tessa said. "But I can't get out for at least another hour. Could you find a way to get these people to cease the horrific banging of that infernal bell? It is the third hour in a row and people are becoming suspicious."

"Certainly," Xavier said. "But Tessa, this won't be a brief meeting. You may need to take leave for at least a few days. How long do you think you could manage without inciting Shaw's Ire?"

"Whatever it takes, I will manage it," Tessa told him. "That is why you placed me here, is it not?"

"It is," he said, leaving off the _thank you for all you've sacrificed for us_. He couldn't bring himself to say it, not when he would be expecting her to return to Shaw's fold for an undetermined amount of time.

Logan frowned.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

_Evr'y gal in Constantinople—Is a Miss-stanbul, not Constantinople—So if you've a date in Constantinople—She'll be waiting in Istanbul…*_

Remy answered his phone without a greeting. "Y' done?"

"I t'ink so," Belle said a little breathless. "How'd in the world did y' manage dis?"

"I fell," he said. "What do y' t'ink?"

He hung up on her barrage of laughter.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Rogue managed to clamp down the Lanx enough to dislodge her hands completely from the bars. Still, her intended predatory stalk towards Deathbird was rather hindered by the taffy effect of each of her steps. She left a trail of Lanx strands like overactive silly string as she walked. But then, she didn't need to be close to do real damage.

Deathbird's nose crunched as Rogue used Jean's telekinesis to slam her face into the wall. Blood spurted.

_Wish ya were here to see this, Évariste_, Rogue thought to herself. She knew he hadn't been happy with Deathbird before she backhanded them so terribly. As if in agreement with her thoughts, her Lanx siphoned his location out of the security system and straight into her.

Deathbird's shoulder crunched as she hit the opposite wall. She expected the barrage to continue for a while longer, but it did not.

"Nighty night," Rogue told Cal'syee sweetly before telepathically knocking her unconscious. She dropped her into one of the cells and locked it.

The silly-string taffy effect to her walk was already reducing as she exited the holding room and headed for the infirmary. It hadn't left her entirely, though. Rather, it shifted. Now it was less of her feet to the floor and more of her to Évariste. The fix—broken as it was—hauled her, seeking repair.

_I'm coming, Évariste._

To her pleasure, she read his reply straight from his thoughts. _Soigneux, mon coeur._ Careful, my heart. _Je t'aime._ I love you.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

_Even old New York was once New Amsterdam—Why they changed it, I can't say—People just liked it better that way…*_

Gambit didn't bother saying anything when he answered this time.

"Singer's flying Emil up to y' now," Bella said. Her voice was laughter-laced and still mocked him amicably. "Whatever it is y' want from me, _amoureux_, I hope it's wort' it. For de life o' me, I can' t'ink of a single t'ing wort' getting hung off de roof of de Superdome. Scratch dat... knowin' y'… Probably some feisty slip of a t'ing, hien? Remy LeBeau, self-proclaimed king of hearts, y' sure gone an' done it dis time. Y' well an' truly fell for a girl, didn't y'?"

"More like I was pushed," he denied grumpily.

Belladonna hung up on her own laughter that time.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"Where did you get that Hulk band-aid," Évariste asked Max in attempt to distract the young twins from the alarming flashing red lights and klaxons.

"Doctor Nate let me choose it because I didn't cry over the needles," Max answered proudly. He looked at all the tubes and wires going in and out of Évariste and marveled, "Bet you'll get candy though. You got lots more than I did."

"Do they—" Marlee began but then her eyes glazed over and her brow furrowed.

"What is it?" Évariste asked her.

Marlee went to the wall and pressed her hand to it. Full of awe and wonder, she explained, "The ship… It's talking." She looked back at Évariste and Max and smiled broadly. "It says…"

"Rogue's here," Évariste finished with her.

"Is it your powers, Marlee?" Kerr asked as he rushed over. He'd been only half-observing them while he studied all of their charts. He'd still not gotten the heart to disrupt their visit to give the kids the check-up Hank had asked him to do. When the klaxons went off, he hovered between them and the door, unsure where his loyalties were expected until he knew what the threat was.

"It's not me," Marlee told them. She leaned harder against the wall, tipped her forehead against it. "But… I think I could. Like I did with the toys."

Kerr and Évariste shared a look, gauging each other's reactions and guarding their own all the same. Évariste probed further than that with his own powers and as he did so, he realized something.

"You're a mutant," Évariste said accusatory.

"Of course I am." Kerr tilted his head curiously at him. "All of Hank's interns are."

Évariste would have probed further with that, but then Rogue spoke telepathically to him so instead he addressed the kids. "Back up, you two," he told them. "Stick together. Stay near, but not too close."

They did as he instructed, but looked their question to him.

"Rogue's coming," he told them. "But she's not well."

Kerr took a step for the door; to bar it or to hold it open, he wasn't sure which exactly. Regardless, he wanted a better look at what was coming for them.

"Don't," Évariste warned, not yet sure if he should trust the likeable young doctor. "She'll kill you to get to us." His breathing raced. "She might on accident too." His eyes fluttered and a tremor thrummed through him. "She's Lanx ridden." His monitors beeped like crazy. "She's wired into the ship." The fix wanted full restoration. "Her mind is…" And it wanted it _now_.

His eyes rolled back into his head as a seizure struck him. Kerr jumped into action, setting off the medical alerts and plying the wealth of his life-saving knowledge. Seconds later, two nurses joined him. Hank bounded in just after them. Together, the four of them worked on the medical mystery that was Évariste in unison. All the while, Max clung to his sister as they watched. All the while, Rogue approached and they hoped she'd be there soon. But just in case… Marlee reached out to the Helicarrier with her powers and asked it for help.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"Rogue's on board," Xavier said in surprise as he searched for more answers upon the Helicarrier via Cerebra's boosting of his powers. "Her mind's chaotic, frenetic, hard to follow…"

Logan watched and listened. He hated being on the sidelines playing the observer and waiting his turn to act. Monet was restless also, but he got the impression it was because she really wanted to try out Cerebro for herself.

"She fought with Carol at the safe house," Xavier continued as he relayed the flashes of insight he got from Rogue's frenzied thoughts. "She was shot and… it's hard to decipher, but she connects getting shot with being transported onto the Helicarrier."

"Like back at Elysium," Logan confirmed, though he doubted Xavier heard him. Louder, in a tone that brokered no option but to be heard, he said, "Get me in touch with Fury. We need some straight answers, X."

"I'm trying, Logan, but Rogue is… there's all this static… It's like her mind has invaded the ship itself."

"Her Lanx," Logan mumbled in realization.

"It's fading now… she's seeking out Évariste now…"

"So stop peeping on her for a blasted second and find Fury," Logan insisted.

Xavier was quiet for several long moments until, "Found him." He was quiet to the room's inhabitants while he conversed privately with Fury, but then he gasped and lurched and roughly dispatched himself of the connection. Panting slightly, sweat beading on his brow, he looked askance at Logan's concerned approach. "The ship," Xavier told him full of awe and wonder. "It's alive."

Then he sagged in the chair, unconscious.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

All ninety thousand plus tons of the Helicarrier _shifted_ and then paused. Everyone and everything on it kept on moving, slamming into walls and bulkheads in the process. By the time they caught up to the stop, it shifted again, and they were thrown the other way and it hiccupped forward and continued on its previous route.

"Marlee…" Max said in wary warning. He'd felt something course through her. The sensation had pulsed his palm where it pressed against hers. His insides dropped in excited dread, like when he rode that old rollercoaster at Coney Island. Something buried deep wiggled in response. It squirmed as if fighting to break free, but still too tightly bound to do so. The hairs on his arms rose and he rubbed them to try to erase the eerie sensation. He stared at her and asked, "What have you done?"

Marlee shook her hand out of Max's and glared at him in her six-year-old indignant way. "I'm helping!" Turning her back to him she faced a blinking console on the wall and spoke to it. "Heli, Évariste needs Rogue. Bring her here!"

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"What the hell?" Carol said when the floor tilted and a chair had slammed into her leg.

She was on the Helicarrier, in the transport/holding room. A few minutes earlier, she shot the still unconscious Hudson and Levitt each with the teleportation gun before turning it on herself. Upon arrival, she had planned to place them comfortably in some chairs, but when she found the floor seemed to be trying to shake her loose, she decided to simply dump them into the nearest cell as she slid past it.

Unexpected as it was, the Helicarrier was rocking. Its motion reminded her of a ship upon waters, only its rolling tilts and dips rode waves that felt convex more than concave. If she'd seen it from outside she would've compared it to a dog shaking water off itself, in slow motion. Its next swing sent her into the adjoining room, where she saw Val trying unsuccessfully to hot-wire the door open.

"She's got control of the ship," Val explained without much explanation.

"Who does?"

"Rogue," Val spat as if she'd swallowed something venomous. "Cal'syee set off the alarms shortly after Rogue was captured. By the time I got here Cal was out cold and Rogue was gone. Then the ship locked me in."

The ship in question rocked back the other way and as they slid, Val inadvertently ripped out the very wires she had been trying to splice together.

"I'll get us out," Carol announced as she braced herself against the opposite wall for leverage.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Rogue ran into a lot of interference along the way to the infirmary. She was being swarmed on both sides by loyal SHIELD foot soldiers and was waning on energy and losing the slight and tenuous hold she had on her overactive Lanx and feeling like she wouldn't win but at least she wouldn't go down in surrender and that's when she knew the Lanx had finally broke her because she swore she felt the Helicarrier come alive with personality and fear and worry and a voice that reached across the strands of Lanx that kept shooting out of her and into the metal walls and floors and ceiling and ask her for advice.

_Clear a path_, Rogue had thought at it sardonically without any regard for what that would take, what it would mean; that was when the ship started its slow rocking and sending them all sliding along the corridor.

Rogue scrambled at the slick and shiny walls for purchase to little effect when an emergency door slammed shut across the corridor. Had it waited another second later, Rogue would've been slashed in its path. She barely had a moment to process that thought when the ship shifted the opposite direction, sliding them the other way down the hall, and again an emergency door slammed shut, this time just shy of guillotining her. Both closures sealed most of the tête-à-tête from her, like mud sifted away from the more precious bits of gold. The few remaining soldiers were easy enough to knock unconscious with Jean's telepathy and telekinesis. Better yet, soon as she'd done so, a third door activated, and this one didn't cross the hall but opened out of it.

It was almost as if the ship was leading her to Évariste.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"Remy, stop y' squirming!" Emil's sniggers had taken a back seat to his irritation. "I gotta cut dese straps and keep a hold of y' wit'out snaggin' de bot' of us in de chute."

"Still don't understand why Singer can't catch me while you shuck de chute," Remy complained.

"Bella wants it as a souvenir," Singer answered Remy in mild exasperation. "She wants it safe more den she wants t' talk wit' y' so I'd shut up an' do as we say if I were y'."

"An' don't you forget dat if I drop, de last t'ing you'll experience will be a charged—Ahhhhhh!"

He dropped… two inches. Although, fairly, it had been abruptly done.

"Détendre," _relax_, Emil said, voice strained, "I gotcha, coz."

Remy craned his neck to see that Emil's lopsided grin was as taut as it had sounded. He watched Emil's face dampen with sweat and redden with stress. He watched Emil's neck and arms cord with fatiguing muscles from holding Remy's weight by the chute's harness. And as he watched, he heard the silky whisper of the chute itself as it billowed, gaped, and slid while Singer gathered its voluminous length into a manageable bunch.

Lifting her quiet, measuring gaze to Emil, Singer asked, "Ready?"

"Non," Emil said emphatically. "An' I won't be. Y' gotta take Remy too. I can't make de trade."

Singer frowned. "Belle won' like it."

"Belle can bec mon chu," _kiss my ass_, Emil said. "Not a matter of obedience, Chanteur." _Singer_. "'S a matter of Remy's weight." Contradictory to the rest of his face, Emil's eyes crinkled in his tease at Gambit. "Pas de lagniappe when its ev'ry day, coz." _Not a bonus_. "'S gluttony."

Singer's frown deepened. She surveyed the expanse of curved wall between them and the far off ground. "If I get y' to dat drain, t'ink y' can climb it to de bottom?"

Remy swallowed hard. He met her eyes. "She's a bitch sometimes, neh?"

"Bella?" She didn't even try to mask the incredulity. Singer was loyal to a fault.

"Necessity," Remy said and then, like he hadn't thought of that until just then, he added, "Mais, her too."

He indeed made it down. Emil, however, had to beg Singer to come back up for him. Held close, his back pressed to her chest, Emil grinned the whole way down.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

Carol frowned the entire way as she cleared a path by busting through wall after wall of the Helicarrier. She arrived at the infirmary to witness Dr. McCoy holding paddles while one nurse watched the connecting prompt and another nurse helped the intern, Dr. Benedict, clear Évariste of anything that could disrupt or dispel the electrical charge.

"Clear!" Hank shouted as he pressed the paddles to Évariste.

Beep-beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

"Where's Rogue?" Carol asked them, not expecting an answer.

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

"Behind you!" Val hollered as she climbed over the debris from the hole in the wall Carol had made for her entrance.

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

Carol turned just in time to see Rogue's fist, bolstered with Jean's telekinesis, smash into her nose.

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

"Stay down," Rogue told her before she even crashed into a cart of supplies half way across the room. Hand upraised, she held Carol prostate against it. She thrust her other hand back, shoving a wall of telekinesis at Val, holding her against the wall beside the hole Carol had made. "Stay."

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

Rogue moved determinably towards Évariste.

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

Eleven feet. The Lanx was ahead of her, stretching and squirming onward, as though the fix tapped into Rogue's absorbed magnetic powers to help her achieve its goals.

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

"Charged," Kerr announced.

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

Seven feet. The tendrils escaping from her shoes scratched the floor.

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

"Clear!"

—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—zzzztttkkk!

The machine crumpled in on itself, sparked, and then smoked.

Three feet. She could feel him, and he her, like the heady pull of magnets just before that ironic freedom in their clapping together.

"I got it, doc," Rogue said.

One foot. That pull, that pull. He stilled. He blinked. He rose up to meet her approaching lips.

"No, my dear," Essex said, "You don't." He plunged the syringe at her Lanx ridden neck.

"Heli!" Marlee screamed and the ship listened.

Its lurch sent Essex stumbling over backwards, his syringe clattering out of view. It disrupted Rogue's concentration, setting Val and Carol loose. Rogue grabbed the sheets to catch her balance, but still the kiss missed.

Essex drew himself to his feet. Val aimed her gun. Carol sprung up and through the air. Évariste and Rogue stared, transfixed, blood blossoming in mirrored patterns on their abdomen. Essex retrieved a second syringe from a pocket. Val pulled the trigger. Nurses ducked and Carol sailed overhead. Évariste and Rogue leaned in, so close, so close…

Carol snatched Rogue away, across the medlab, through the hole and beyond.

The bullet whirred past where Rogue had just been. It lodged in the wall over Marlee and Max's heads. Marlee's eyes grew wide and she dropped, unconscious. The Helicarrier shut down and plummeted.

Max screamed.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

"Then y'r fucked, Remy," Belle said and downed the rest of her bourbon. "'Cause Essex's de only source I can t'ink of wit' dat kinda knowhow."

"Mais, oui," Gambit said as he swirled the amber liquid that glowed with the light of the fireplace in the Boudreau's old fashioned smoking room, "You're still gonna help."

Mirth twinkled her eyes. "Damn straight," she barked and poured herself another sloppy glass. "'Bout time something interesting happened."

_Take me back to Constantinople—No, you can't go back to Constantinople—Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople—Why did Constantinople get the works?—That's nobody's business but the Turks'*_

"Bon jour! Bonne Nuit! Who's a callin' to join all de fun?" Remy answered his phone.

"Oh, this just gets better and better," Mystique said on the other end.

"I'd gripe about y' knowing dis number, but I doubt even y' could ruin my good mood right now."

"Perhaps its just as well that I don't pick you up, now," Mystique told him with sadistic glee. "With all the fun you're having playing in the mud."

Remy, who'd been leaning back in his chair, lost his balance. Belle laughed so hard at him that she spilled her drink all over herself.

"It's her mama, n'est-ce pas?" _Isn't it? _ Belle roared with laughter at Remy's responding expression. "Oui, oui! Such fun!" She helped Remy up and made kissy noises at his cheek and the phone. "Should I torture her wit' tales of our vigorous—"

Remy clamped a hand over Belles mouth. Into the phone, he asked Mystique, "Listen here, Raven. I've about had it wit' your screwin' me around. Eit'er get your scaly, skanky ass over here like y' promised or—"

"Or what?" Her voice was so saccharine it made his teeth hurt. "You'll tell Rogue that I took away her already discarded toy?"

He pushed Belle off him completely and asked Mystique, "What y' mean discarded?"

"There's a new fix in town," she said oh-so-sweetly. "And I doubt he'll be letting you back into his compound any time soon."

"What de hell are y' talk—Mystique!"

Belle bounced against him in eager merriment. "What, she hang up on y'?"

"Non, worse, I t'ink," he said as he closed his phone. "Gimme your phone."

"Hey!" Belle quipped as Remy dipped his hand into her cleavage to procure her phone.

"Guess her and Forge made up," Remy said as he showed Belle the 'no signal' message on her phone. "Looks like she just took out y'r private satellite."

"Oh, no, she didn't!"** She ran to the doorway and called out, "Gris-Gris, git y'r ass over dere and put a cunja on dat slimy, blue, possedè pouffiasse!"

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

**Additional Notes:** What's this, a new fix??? Find out next chapter.

**Irrelevant, But Fun For Me Note:** I'm originally from Bayville, NY (like in X-Men Evolution). It's a small beach town on the northern side of Long Island. My maternal grandmother and one of my uncles still live there. Here's hoping I'll have the next chapter up by my birthday in a couple of weeks in celebration of this coinkidink (since, well, I loved X-Men years before Evo).

*****_"Istanbul/Constantinople"_ by _They Might Be Giants_ (just in case a few of you youngun's didn't know it). I don't know why I have it as Gambit's ringtone, other than, it struck me as suitably amusing for some really strange reason.

******I am so addicted to the song from the commercial for Mercenaries 2 video game. The song lyrics are actually "oh, no, you didn't." I can't get the danged thing out of my head for months now. When it popped up here, I thought I'd share it with you.

**X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X - ****X X X X X X X X X X X**

_See you next chapter!_

Posted November 1, 2008. (Just barely)


End file.
